
ISTo. ^- 



T HE 



POOR OF NEW YORK; 



% flrama ht Jiiljc ^ris. 



BY THE * * * * CLUn. 



TO WHICH ARE ADDED 

•-(•liptioii of the Costiniie~Ca!»t of the Chiiraoters-Entriuiues and Kxits— 
llelalive Positions of the P^irfoimers on the Stage, and the whole of the 
Sia^eJSuBijiesji. 



This Play forms No. 189 of Freiiclis Edition of tli« Standard Drama. 



NEW YORK: 
S A M U E ]/ F K E N C H 

iS'o. 122 Nassau Street, Up Stairs. 



Ji 



"^^^^-'^1^7'/-,- 




*LONDON ASSURANCE, a Comedy in 5 acts, - 

*IRTSH HEIRESS, a Comedy in 5 acts, - - . 

*A LOVER BY PROXY, a Farce in 1 act, 

*ALMA MATER, a Comedy in 3 acts, 

♦CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE, a Farce in 1 act, 

♦THE BASTILE. a Drama in 1 act, - - - - 

♦THE OLD GUARD, a Drama in 1 act, - - - . 

♦WOMAN, a Tragedy in 5 acts, - - - . 

YICTOR AND HORTENSE, a Drama in 2 acts, 

LOVE IN A SACK, a Farce in 1 act, 

LOLAII, a Drama In 2 acts, ----- 

USED UP, a Comedy in 2 acts, - - - - 

♦OLD HEADS AND YOUNG HEARTS, a Comedy in 5 acts.- 

DON C/ESAR DE BAZAN, a Drama in 3 acts, - 

A MATCH FOR A KING, a Comedy in 2 acts, 

MOTHER AND SON, a Drama in 3 acts, - 

FOX AND GOOSE, an Operetta in 1 act, 

♦LAYING A GHOST, a Farce in 1 act, 

♦A CONFIDENCE, a Comedy in 1 act. . - - - 

♦THE OLD SCHOOL, a Comedy in 2 acts, - . - 

♦FOUND OUT AT HOME, ^ Comedy in 3 acts, 

THE WATER CURE, an Operctla in 1 act, 

♦SHAKSPEARE IN LOVE, 1 act, - - - - 

♦LOVE AND MONEY, a Comedy in 5 acts, 

♦THE WILLOW COPSE, a Drama in 5 acts, - 

♦THE KNIGHT OF ARVA, a Comic Drama in 2 acts, - 

♦SALAMANDRINE, a Ballet, 

GERALDA, a Comic Drama in 3 acts, 

THE INVISIBLE HUSBAND, a Comic Drama in 3 acts, 

*A RADICAL CURE, a Farce in 1 act, 

♦LOVE IN A MAZE, a Comedy in 5 acts, 

SEXTUS THE FIFTH, a Drama in 5 a 's, 

[Coniimtcd on Hard page of cover. '\ 



London, 


1841^ 


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1842 


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1843 


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1843 


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1843 1 


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lb44 [ 


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1844 


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1844 


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1844 


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1845 


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IBAb 


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1845 


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184G 


London, 


1847 


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1848 


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1848 


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1849 


London, 


1850 


London, 


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London, 


1850 


London, 


1851 


London, 


1851 



V 




FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA 



No. CLXXXIX. 



T HE 



POOR OF NEW YOM. 

% grama ht gxbt %tiB, 



BY THE * * =* * CLUB 



/ju^« /i 






TO WHICH ARE ADDED 



^ ^t'SSllVj.mo^^^^^^^ °^ '^^ Characters-Entrance, and Exlta- 

Kelative Fositions of the Performers on the Stage, and the whole of the 

ytage Business. 



^s ^crfotmEb at WMudi's Cbtstte, gctcmbtr, 1857. 






NEW YORK: 

SAMUEL FEENCH 

No. 122 Nassau Street, Up Stairs. 



V 



THE fOOR OF NEW YOttk. 



Re-enter Edwards. 



Edw. Here, sir, are the drafts on the Bank of England, 70,000 
dollars. [Hands impers to Bloodgood, w/io places them in his pocket, 
hook. 

Blood. Are the clerks all gone 1 

Edw. All sh-; except Mr. Badger, 

Blood. Badger ! the most negligent of all. That is strange. 

Edw. His entries are behind hand he says, and he is balancing his 
books. 

Blood. Desire him to come to me, [Sits. Exit Edwards. 

Enter Badger, smoking cigar. 

Bad. You have asked for me. 

Blood. Yes ; you are strangely attentive to business to-day, Mr. 
Badger. 

Bad. Everything has a beginning. 

Blood. Then you will please to begin to-morrow. 

Bad. To-morrow ! no sir, my business must be done to-day. 
Carpe diem — make most of to-day — that's my philosophy. 

Blood. Mr. Badger, Philosophy is not a virtue in a banker's clerk. 

Bad. Think not 7 

Blood. [Impatiently.] Neither philosophy nor impertinence. You 
are discharged from my employment. 

Bad. Pardon me ! I do not catch the precise word. 

Blood. [Sternly.] Go, sir, go! I discharge you. 

Bad. Go ! — discharge me 1 I am still more in the dark, I can 
understand my services not being required in a house that goes on, 
but where the house is ready to burst up the formality of telling a 
clerk he is discharged, does seem to me an unnecessary luxury. 

Blood. [Trouhled..] I do not understand jon, sir. 

Bad. [Seating himself on a desk, deliberately dangling his legs.] 
No ! well I'll dot my i's and cross my t's, and make myself plain to 
the meanest capacity. In business there are two ways of getting 
rich, one hard, slow and troublous : this is called labor ; — 

Blood. Sir! 

Bad. Allow me to finish. The other easy, quick and demanding 
nothing but a pliant conscience and a daring mind — is now pleasantly 
denominated financiering — but when New York was honest, it was 
called fraudulent bankruptcy, that was before you and I were born. 

Blood. What do you mean 1 

Bad. I mean that for more than two years I have watched your 
business transactions; when you thought me idle, my eyes were every- 
where : in your books, in your safe, in your vaults ; if you doubt me 
question me about your operations for the last three months. 

Blood. This is infamous ! 

Bad. That is precisely the word I used when I came to the end of 
your books. 

Edw. [Outside.] This way, sir. 



THE POOR OF NEW YORK. O 

Enter Edwards, with Captain Fairweather. 

Blood. \To'BAT>G-RVi, in alarm. ^ Not a word. 

Bad. All right. 

Edw. [Introducing Captain F.] This is Mr. Bloodgood. 

Capt. Glad to see you, sir. You will pardon my intruding at an 
hour when the bank, I am told is closed. 

Blood. I am at your service, sir. 

{lie makes a sign for Badger to retire, hut the latter remains. 

Bad. [T'o Captain.] You may speak, sir; Mr Bloodgood has no 
secrets from me, I am in his confidence. 

Capt. [Sits.] I am a sea captain, in the India Trade. My voyages 
are of the longest, and thus I am obliged to leave my wife and two 
children almost at the mercy of circumstances. I was spending a 
happy month with my darlings at a little cosy place I have at 
Yonkers while ray ship was loading, when this infernal commercial 
squall set in — all my fortune 100,000 dollars, the fruits of thirty years 
hard toil was invested in the United States Bank — it was the livelihood 
of my wife — the food of my little children — I hurried to my brokers 
and sold out. I saved myself just in time. 

Blood. I admire your promptitude. 

Capt. To-morrow I sail for China ; for the last three weeks I have 
worried my brains to think how I should bestow my money — to-day 
I bethought me of your house — the oldest in New York — your name 
stands beyond suspicion, and if I leave this money in your hands, I 
can sleep nightly with the happy assurance that whatever happens to 
me, my dearest ones are safe. 

Bad. You may pull your nightcap over your ears with that estab- 
lished conviction. 

Capt. Now, I know your bank is closed, but if j'ou will accept this 
money as a special deposit, I will write to you how I desire it to be 
invested hereafter. 

Blood. [Pensive.] You have a family ? 

Capt. Don't talk of them — tears of joy come into my eyes whenever 
I think of those children — and my dear wife, the patient, devoted 
companion of the old sailor, whose loving voice murmurs each evening 
a prayer for those who are on the sea; and my children, sir, two 
little angels ; one a fair little thing — we call her Lucy — she is the 
youngest — all red and white like a little bundle of flowers ; and my 
eldest — my soi\ Paul — we named him after Paul Jones — a sailor's 
whim ; well, sir, when the ship is creaking and groaning under my 
feet, when the squall drives the hail and sleet across my face, amidst 
the thunder, I only hear three voices — through the gloom I can see 
only three faces, pressed together like three angels waiting for me in 
heaven, and that heaven is my home. But, how I do talk, sir — for- 
getting that these things can't interest you. 

Blood. They do, more than you imagine. I, too, have a child — 
only one — a motherless child ! 

Capt. Aint it good to speak of the little beings 1 Don't it fill the 
heart like a draught of sweet water 1 My darling torments, here is 



6 THE POOK OF NEW YORK. 

their fortune — I have it in my hand — it is hero — I have snatched it 
from the waves ; I have won it across the tempest ; I have labored, 
wrestled, and suffered for it ; but it seemed nothing, for it was for 
them. Take it, sir. [He hands a pocket-hooh.] In this pocket-book 
you will find one hundred thousand dollars. May I take your receipt, 
and at once depart for my vessel 1 

Bad. [Aside.] This is getting positively interesting. 

Blood. Your confidence flatters me, sir. You desire to place this 
money with me as a special deposit '? 

Capt. If you please. Will you see that the amount is correct 7 

Blood. [Counting.] Mr. Badger, prepare the receipt. 

Bad. [Writing.] " New York, 13th of December, 1837. Received, 
on special deposit, from " [To Captain.] Your name, sir^ 

Capt. Captain Fairweather, of the ship Paul and Lucy, of New 
York. 

Bad. [ Writing.] Captain Fairweather, of the ship 

Blood. One hundred thousand dollars — quite correct 

Bad. [Handing receipt to Bloodgood, and watching him closely as 
he takes the pen.] Please sign the receipt. [Aside.] His hand does 
not tremble, not a muscle moves. AVhat a magnificent robber ! 

Blood. [To Captain.] Here is your receipt. 

Capt. A thousand thanks. Now I am relieved of all trouble. 

Bad. [Aside.] That's true. 

Capt. I must return in haste to the Astor House, where I dine with 
my owners at four — I fear I am late. Good-day, Mr. Bloodgood. 

Blood. Good-day, Captain, and a prosperous voyage to you. [Exit 
Captain Fairweather. Badger opens ledger.] What are you do- 
ing, Mr. Badger'? 

Bad. I am going to enter that special deposit in the ledger. 

Blood. INIr. Badger ! 

Bad. Mr. Bloodgood ! 

Blood. [Brings him doivn.] I have been deceived in you. I confess 
I did not know your value. 

Bad. [Modestly.] Patience and perseverance, sir, tells in the long 
run. 

Blood. Here are one thousand dollars — I present them to you for 
your past services. 

Bad. [Takes the money, and walks over to the ledger on the desk, 
which he closes significantly.] And for the present service 1 

Blood. What do you mean 1 

Bad. My meaning is as clear as Croton. I thought you were going 
to fail — I see I was wrong — you are going to abscond. 

Blood. Mr. Badger ! this language 

Bad. This deposit is special ; you dare not use it in your business ; 
your creditors cannot touch it — ergo, you mean to make a raisa, and 
there's but one way — absconsion ! absquatulation. 

Blood. [Smiling.] It is possible that this evening I may take a 
little walk out of town. 

Bad. In a steamboat 1 

Blood. jNIeet mo at Peck Slip, at five o'clock, and I will hand you 
double the sum I gave you. 



THE POOR OP NEU' YORK. 7 

Bad. [Aside.] In all three thousand dollars. 

Re-enter Edwards. 
Mw. Your daughter, sir ; Miss Alida is in the carriage at the door, 
and is screaming to be admitted. 

Blood. Tell the nurse to pacify her for a few moments. 
Ediv. She dare not, sir 5 Miss Alida has torn nurse's face in a tear- 
ful manner already. . ^?V*' -n 
Bad Dear, high-spirited child ! If she is so gentle now, what will 
she be when she is twenty, and her nails are fully developed t 
Blood. {Takes hai.] I will return immediately. [iia:i^. 
Bad [Following Bloodgood with his eyes.] Oh, nature, wondertul 
mistress ! Keep close to your daughter, Bloodgood, for she is your 
master ! Ruin, pillage, rob fifty families to make her rich wiih their 
misery, happy in their tears. I watched him as he received the for- 
tune of that noble old sailor— not a blink— his heart of iron ne\-er 
emailed; but in this heart of iron there is a straw, a weakness, by 
which it may be cracked, and that weakness is his own child— chil- 
dren ' Thevare the devil in disguise. I have not got any except 
my passions, my vices-a large family of spoilt and ungrateful little 
devils, M'ho threaten their loving father with a prison. 

Bdw. \ Outside.] I tell you, sir, he is not in. , -, , . ^ 

Capt. [Outside] Let ine pass I say. [He enters verymuch agitated.] 
Where is he 7 Where is he '? , 

Dad. [Surprised.] What is the matter, sir ? ,.,,..,* 

Capt. Mr. Bloodgood— I must see liini- speak to him this instant. 
Do yon not hear me ? 

Bad. But 

Capt. He 'has not gone. 

Bad. Sir 

Capt. Ah ! he is here ! 

Re-enter Bloodcjood. 

i??oocZ. What is the meaning of this. _ . i o>- 

Capt. Ah! vou — it is you — [Trying to rest rain h^s emotion.] Sir, 
I have clianged my mind": liere is your receii)t ; have the goodness to 
return me the deposit I — [ — left with you. 

Blood. Sir! 

Capt. I have another investment for this sum, and I— beg you to re- 
store it to me. 

Blood. Restore it ! you have a very strange way, sir, of demanding 

what is due to you. ^ 

Capt. It is true ; pardon me but I have told you it is all I possess. 
It is tlie fortune of my wife, of my children, of my brave Paul, and 
my dear little Lucy. It is their future happiness, their life ! Listen, 
sir ; I will be frank with you. Just now, on returning to my hotel, 
I found the owners of my ship waiting dinner for me, well, they were 
speakinc^ as merchants will speak of each other— your name was 
mentioned— I listened— and they said— It makes me tremble even 



8 THE POOR OF NEW YORK. • 

now — they said there were rumours abroad to day that your house 
was in peril. 

Blood. I attack no importance, sir, to idle talk, 

Capt. But I attach importance to it, sir. How can I leave the city, 
with this suspicion on my mind that perhaps I have compromised the 
future of my family. 

Blood. Sir! 

Capt. Take back your receipt, and return me my money. 

Blood. You know sir, that it is after i)anking hours. Return 
to-monow. 

Capt. No. You received my deposit after banking hours. 

Blood I am not a paying teller, to count out money. 

Capt. You did not say so, when you counted it in. i 

Enter Edwards. 
Edw. The driver says you will be late for the- 



Blood.. [Trying to stop him.] That will do. [Exit Edwards. 

Caj^t. What did he say 1 [Runs to the window.] A carriage at 
the door — 

Bad. [Aside.] Things are getting complicated here. 

Capt. Yes — I see it all. He is going to fly with the fortunes and 
savings of his dupes ! [Tearing his cravat.] Ah ! I shall choke ! [Fu- 
riously ^Bloodgood.] But I am here, villian, I am here in time. 

Blood. Sir. 

Capt. To-morrow, you said— return to-morrow — but to-morrow yen 
will be gone. [Precipitates himself on Bloodgood.J ISIy money, my 
money. I will have it this instant ! Do not speak a word, it is useless, 
I wiir not listen to you. Mv money, or I v.ill kill you as a coAvard 
should be killed, Robber! Thief! 

Bad. [Aside.] Hi ! hi ! This is worth fifty cents — reserved seats 
extra. 

Blood. [Disengaging himself .] Enough of this scandal. You shall 
have your money back a^ain. 

dipt. Give it me— ah! — [In pain.] My head! [To Bloodgood.] 
Be quick, give it to me, and let me go. [Staggering and putting his 
hands to face.] My God ! what is this strange feeling which over- 
comes me. 

Bad. He is falling, what's the niatter of him 1 

[Captain F. falls in chair c. 

Blood. His face is purple. [Takes p>ockei-hooh and commences to 
count out money. 

[Soft music to end. of act. 

Capt. I am suffocatins ; some air. I cannot see; everything is 
black before my eyes. Am I dying % 0, no, no ! it cainiot be, I will 
not die. 1 must see them again. Some water — quick ! Come to me — 
my wife — mv children ! Where are they that I cannot fold then) in my 
arms ! [He looks strangely and fearfully into the face o/Bloodgood 
for an instant, and then breaks into a loud sob.] Oh, my children— 
my poor, poor, little children ! [After some convulsive ef oris to speak 
his eyes become fixed. ■* 



THE POOR OP NEW TOKL, 9 

Mood. [Distracted.] Some one run for help. Badger, a doctor 
quick. ' 

_ Bad. [Standing over Captain.] All right, sir, I have studied medi- 
cine—that is liow I learned most of my loose habits. [Examines the 
Captain's pulse and eyes.] It is useless, sir. He is dead. 

Blood. [Ilorrifled.] Dead! [^hooDGOOT)' & attitude is one of extre^yie 
horror. This position gradualhj relaxes as he begins to see the ad- 
vantages that will residtfrom the Captain's death.] Can it be possible ! 

Bad. [Tearing open the Captain's vest. The receipt falls on the 
growid.] His heart has ceased to beat— congestion in all its diagnostics. 

Blood. Dead! 

Bad. Apoplex}'- — the symptoms well developed — the causes natural; 
over excitement and sudden emotion. 

Blood. [Relaxing into an attitude of cunning.] Dead ! 

Bad. You arc spared the agony of counting out his money. 

Blood. Dead! 

Bad. [Sees receipt on ground.] Ha! here is the receipt I Signed by 
Bloodgood. As a general rule never destroy a receipt — there is no 
knowing when it may yet prove useful. [Picks it up, and puts it in 
kis pocket. 

Tableau. 



e:id of act I. 



10 THE POOR OP NEW YORS. • 

(A lapse of twenty years is supposed to intervene between the Firstand Second Acts.) 

ACT II. 



®;ije |aitk of 1S5?. 



SCENE I. — The Park] near Tammany Hall 

Enter Livingstone, 

lAv. Eight o'clock in the morning ! For the last hour I have been 
hovering round Chatham street — I Avanted to sell my overcoat to some 
enterprising Israelite, but I could not muster the courage to enter one 
of those dens. Can I realize the fact? Three months ago, I stood 
there the fashionable Mark Livingstone, owner of the Waterwitch 
yacht, one of the original stock-holders in the Academy of Music, and 
now, burst up, sold out, and reduced to breakfast off' this coat. [Feels 
in the pocket. \ What do I feeH a gold dollar — undiscovered in the 
Raglan of other days ! [ Withdraws his hand.] No ; 'tis a five-cent 
piece ! 

Enter Puffy, with a hot-potato arrangement. 

Picffy. Past eight o'clock ! I am late this morning. 

Liv. i wonder what that fellow has in his tin volcano — it smells 
well. Ha ! what are those funny things 7 Ah 1 

P'nffy. Sweet potatoes, sir. 

Liv. Indeed ! {Aside.} If the Union Club saw me — {Looks round.] 
No ; I am incog — hunger cries aloud. Here goes. 

Puffy. Why, bless me, if it ain't Mr. Livingstone ! 

Liv. The devil ! He knows me — I dare not eat a morsel. 

Puffy. I'm Puff'y, sir ; the baker that was — in Broadway — served 
you, sir, and your good father afore 3'ou. 

Liv. Oh, Puff'y — ah, true. {Aside.] I wonder if I ow^e him anything. 

Puffy. Down in the world now, sir — over-speculated like the rest 
on 'em. I expanded on a new-fangled oven, that was to bake enough 
bread in six hours to supply the whole United States — got done brown 
in it myself — subsided into Bowery — expanded again on woffles, 
caught a second time — obliged to contract into a twelve foot front on 
Division street. Mrs. P. tends the indoor trade — I do a locomotive 
business in potatoes, and we let our second floor. My son Dan sleeps 
with George Washington No. 4, while Mrs. P. and I make out under 
the counter ; Mrs. P., bein' wide, objects some, but I says — says I, 
" My dear, everybody must contract themselves in these here hard 
times." 

Liv. So you are poor now, are you 1 {Takes a potato, playfully. 

Puffy. Yes, sir ; I ain't ashamed to own it — for I hurt nobody 
"but myself. Take a little salt, sir. But, Lord bless you, sir, poverty 
don't come amiss to me — I've got no pride to support. Now, tliere's 
my lodgers 



THE POOR OP NEW TORK. 11 

L\v. Ah, your second floor. 

Puffy. A widow lady and her two grown children— poor as mice, 
but proud, sir — they was grand folks once ; you can see that by the 
way they try to hide it. Mrs. Fairweather is a 

Liv. Fairweather — the widow of a sea captain, who died here in 
New York, twenty years ago "? 

Puffy. Do you know my lodgers ^ 

Liv. Three months ago, they lived in Brooklyn— Paul had a clerk- 
ship in the Navy Yard. >. 

Piffy. But when the panic set in, the URited States government 
contracted— it paid off a number of employees, and Mr. Paul was 
discharged. 

Liv. They are reduced to poverty and I did not know it.— No, how 
could I. [Aside.] Since my ruin I have avoided them. [Aloud.} 
And Lucy — I mean Miss Fairweather 1 

Puffy. She works at a milliner's, in Broadway— bless her s\yeet 
face and kind smile— me and my wife, we could bake ourselves into 
bread afore she and they should come to want; and as for my boy 
Dan— talk of going through fire and water for her— he does that every 
night for nothing. Why, sir, you cant say '• Lucy," but a big tear 
will come up in his eye as big ?is a cartwheel, and then he'll let out 
an almighty cuss, that sounds like a thousand o' brick. 

Enter Paul and Mrs. Fairweatukr, dressed in black. 

Liv. Oh ! [Li confusion, hides the potato in his pocket, and hums 
an air as he walks away. Aside.] I wonder if they kno\v me. 

Mrs. F. Ah, Mr. Puffy. 

Puffy. Wiiat, my second floor. Mrs. Fairweather— good morning, 
Mr. Paul ; I hope no misfortune has happened — you are dressed in 
mourning. 

Mrs. F. This is the anniversary of my poor husband's death ; this 
day, twenty years ago, he was taken away from us — we keep it 
sacred to his memory. 

Paul. It was a fatal day for us. When my father left home he liad 
100,000 dollars on his person — when he was found lying dead on the 
sidewalk of Liberty street,he was robbed of all. 

Mrs. F. From that hour misfortune has tracked us — wc have lost 
our friends. 

Puffy. Friends — that reminds me — why where is Jlr. Living- 
stone — there's his coat — 

Paul. Livingstone! 

Puffy. We were talking of you, when you came up. lie slipped 
away. 

Re-enter Livingstone. 

Liv. I think I dropped my coat. [Recognizing them.] Paul — am I 

mistaken 1 

Mrs. F. No, Mr. Livingstone. 

Paul. Good morninir, sir. 

Liv. Sir! — INlr. Livingstone ! — liave T offended you 1 



12 THE POOn OF NEW YORK. 

Paul. We could not expect you to descend to visit us in cur poor 
lodging. 

Mrs F. We cannot afibrd the pleasure of your society. 

Liv. Let me assure you tliat I ^vas ignorant of your misfortunes — 
and if I have not called — it was because — a — because — [Aside.^ 
What shall I say. [Aloud.} — I have been absent from the city ; — 
may I ask how is your sister 7 

Paul. My sister Lucy is now employed in a millinery store in 
Broadway — she sees you pass the door every day. 

Liv. [Aside.} The devil — I must confess my ruin, or appear a con- 
temptible scoundrel. 

Paul. Livingstone — I cannot conceal my feelings, we were school- 
mates together — and I must speak out — 

Liv. [Asid.e.] I Iwxovf v.iiat's coming. 

Paul. I'm a blunt New York boy, and have something of the old 
bluli" sailor's blood in my veins — so pardon me if I tell you that you 
have behaved badly to my sister Lucy, 

Liv. For many months 1 was a daily visitor at your house — I loved 
your sister. 

Paul. You asked me for Lucy's hand — I gave it, because I loved 
you as a brother — not because you were ricli. 

Liv. [Asid.c] To retrieve my fortunes so that I might marry — I 
speculated in stocks and lost ail I possessed. To enrich Lucy and her 
family, 1 involved myself in utter ruin. 

Paul. The next day i lost my clerkship — we were reduced to 
poverty, and you disajjpeared. 

Liv. I can't stand it — I will confess all — let me sacrifice every 
feeling but Lucy's love and your esteem — 

Mrs. F. Beware, Mr. Livlrigstone, how you seek to renew our 
acquaintance ; recollect my daughter earns a pittance behind a coun- 
ter — I take in work, and Paul new teeks for the poorest means of earn- 
ing an honest crust of bread. 

Liv. And what would yon say if I were no better off than your- 
selves — if I too were poor — if I — 

PvjfV' You, poor, you who own a square mile of New York 1 

Enter Blood goop. 

JAv. Mr. Bloodgood ! 

Blood. Ah, Livingstone — why do you not call to see us 1 You know 
our address — Madison square — my daughter Alidawill be delighted. — 
By the way — I have some paper of yours at the bank, it comes due 
to-day — ten thousand dollars, I think — you bank at the Chemical ? 

Lh\ Yes, I do — that is did, — bank there. 

Blood. Why don't you bank with me, a rich and careless fellow like 
you — with a large account. 

Liv. Yes — I — [Aside.] He is cutting the ground from under my 
feet. 

Paul. Mr. Bloodgood — pardon me, sir, but I was about to call on 
you to-day to solicit employment. 

Blood. I'm full, sir, — indeed I think of reducing salaries, everybody 
is doing so. 



THE POOR OF NEW YORK. 13 

Liv. But you ave making thousands a week 1 

Blood That is no reason that I should not take advantage of the 
times — [Recognizing Puffy.] Ah, Mr. Puffy, that note of yours. 

Puffy. Oh, Lord ! [Aside.] It is the note Mrs. Fairweather gave me 
for her rent. 

Blood. My patience is worn out. 

Puffy. It's all right sir. 

Blood. Take care it is. [Exit. 

Puffy. There goes the hardest ciiss that ever went to law. 

Liv. Paul — my dear friend — will you believe me — my feelings are 
the same towards you — nay more tender, more sincere than ever — but 
there are circumstances I cannot explain. 

3Irs. F. Mr. Livingstone, say no more — we ask no explanation. 

Liv. But I ask something — let me visit you — let me return to the 
place that I once held in your hearts. 

Puffy. 219 Division street — Puffy, Baker. Dinner at half past one 
— come to day, sir — do. sir. 

Paul. We cannot refuse you. 

Mrs. F. I will go to Lucy's store and let her know. Ah ! Mr. 
Livingstone — she has never confessed that she loved you — but you 
will find her cheek {)aler than it used to be. ^ [Exit. 

Paul. And now to hunt for work — -to go from office to office plead- 
ing for employment — to be met always with the same answer — " we 
are full" — or '* Ave are discharging hands" — Livingstone, I begin to 
envy the common laborer who has no fears, no care, beyond his food 
and shelter — I am beginning to lose my pity for the poor. 

Liv. The poor ! — whom do you call the poor ? Do you know them 1 
do you see them 1 they are more frequently found under a black 
coat than under a red shirt. The poor man is the clerk with a family, 
forced to maintain a decent suit of clothes, paid for out of tlie hunger 
of his children. The poor man is the artist who is obliged to pledge 
the tools of his trade to buy medicines for his sick wife. The lawyer 
who, craving for employment, buttons up his thin paletot to hide 
his shirtless breast. These needy wretches are poorer than the poor, 
for they ave obliged to conceal their poverty with the false mask of 
content — smoking a cigar to disguise their hunger — they drag from 
their pockets their last quarter, to cast it with studied carelessness, to 
the begger, whose mattress at home is lined with gold. These are 
the most miserable of the Poor of New York. 
[A small crowd has aasemhle round Livingstone during this speech] 

they taJce him for an orator; oneofthem tak-es down what he says on, 

tablets. 

Enter Policeman. 

Puffy and croivd. Bravo — Bravo — Hurrah — get on the bench ! 

Police. Come — I say — this won't do. 

Liv. What have I done. 

Police. No stumping to the population allowed in tlie Park. 

Lie. Stumping ! ! 

Reporter. Oblige me with your name, sir, for the Herald. 

-^?>- Oh ! [Rushes off. followed by Paul. 



14 THE POOR OP NEW YORK. 

SCENE II. — Exterior o/Bloodgood's Bank, Nassau Street. 

Enter Bloodgood. 

Blood. [Looking at papers.] Four per cent, a month — ha ! if this 
panic do but last, I shall double my fortune ! Twenty years ago this 
very month — ay, this very day — I stood in yonder bank, a ruined 
man. Shall I never forget that night — when I and my accomplice 
carried out the body of the old sailor and laid it there. [Points l.J 
I never pass the spot Avithout a shudder. But his money — that 
founded my new fortune. 

Enter Alida. 

Alida, my dear child, what brings you to this part of the city ? 

Alida. I want two thousand dollars. 

Blood. My dearest child, I gave you five hundred last week. 

Alida. Pooh! what's five hundred 1 You made ten thousand in 
Michigan Southern last week — I heard vou tell Mr. Jacob Little so. 

Blood. But— 

Alida. Come, don't stand fooling about it ; go in and get the 
money — I must liave it. 

Blood. Well, my darling, if you must. Will you step in 1 

Alida. Not I. I'm not going into your dirty bank. I've seen all 
your clerks — they're not M'orth looking at. 

Bloods. I'll go and fetch it. [Exit. 

Alida. This is positively the last time I will submit to this extor- 
tion. [Opens a letter and reads.'] "My adored Alida — 1 fly to your 
exquisite feet ; I am the most wretched of men. Last night, at Hall's, 
I lost two thousand dollars — it must be paid before twelve o'clock. 
Oh, my queen ! my angel ! invent some excuse to get this money from 
your father, and meet me at Maillard's at half-past eleven. When 
shall we meet again alone, in that box at the opera, where I can yjress 
my lips to your superb eyes, and twine my hands in your magnificent 
hair 'i Addio carissirna! The Dltke of Calcavella." I wonder 
if he showed that to any of his friends before he sent it ! 

Re-enter Jjloodgood, followed hy Puffy. 

Blood. I tell you, sir, it must be paid. I have given you plenty of 
time. 

Puffy. You gave me the time necessary for you to obtain execution 
in the Marine Court. 

Blood. Alida, my love, there is a draft for the money. [Gives her 
notes. She takes them.] And now, will you do me a favor 1 Do not 
be seen about so much, in public, with that foreign Duke. 

Alida. I never ask you for a draft but you always give me a pill to 
take with it. 

Blood. I don't like him. 

Alida. I do — bye-bye. [Exit. 

Blood. How grand she looks! That girl possesses my wholo heart. 

Puffy. Reserve a little for me, sir. This here note, it was give to 
me by my 2d floor in payment of rent. It's as good as gold, sir — - 
M'hcn thev are able to pav it. I'd soo)ier have it 



TIIR POOn OF XEW YORK. 



15 



Blood. Ml Puffy, you are the worst kind of man; you are a weak, 
honest fool : you are always failing — always the dupe of some new 
swindler. 

Puffy. Lo :d love you, sir ! if you was to see the folks you call 
swindlers— the kindest, purest 2d floor as ever drew God's breath. 
I told them that this note Avas all right— for if they know'd I was put 
about, along of it, I believe they'd sell the clothes off their backs to 
pay it. 

Blood. [Aside.] This fellow is a fool. But I see, if I levy execu- 
tion the note will be paid. [Aloud.] Very good, Mr. Puffy. I will see 
about it. 

Puffy. You will ! I knew it— there— when folks says you're a hard 
man — I says — no — no more'n a rich man's got to be. 

Blood. Very good. [Aside] I'll put an execution on his house at 
once. [Aloud.] Good morning, Mr. Puffy. [Exit. 

Piffy. Good morning, sir. So, I'm floated off that mud bank. 
Lord ! if he had seized my goods and closed me up — I'd never a 
dared to look ?tlrs. Fairweather in the face agin. [Exit. 

SCENE \\\.—T]ic interior of Puffy's house. A poor hut neat 
room— window at hack. ^Mrs. Fairweatuer is arranging 
dinner. 

Enter Lucy, with a hox. 

Lucy. My dear mother. 

Mrs. F. My darling Lucy. Ah, your eye is bright again. The 
thought of seeing Mark Livingstone has revived your smile. 

Lucy. I have seen him. He and Paul called at Madame Yictorine's. 

Mrs. F. Is your work over, Lucy, already 1 

Lucy. What we expected has arrived, mother. This dress is the 
last I shall receive from Madame Victorino — she is discharging her 
hands. 

Mrs. F. More misfortunes — and Paul has not been able to obtain 
employment. [A knock. 

Enter Mrs. Puffy. 

Mrs. P. ^lay I come in '? it's only Mrs. Puffy. I've been over the 
oven for two hours! Knowing you had comi)any — I've got a pigeon 
pie — such a pie*! — um — oo — mutton kidneys in it — and hard biled 
eggs — love ye! — then I've got a cliicken, done up a way of my own ! 
I'll get on a clean gown and serve it up myself. 

Mrs. F. But my dear Mrs. Puffy — really we did not mean to incur 
any expense 

Mrs. P. Expense ! why, wasn't them pigeons goin' to waste — 
they was shot by Dan — and we can't abide pigeons, neitlier Puffy nor 
I. Tlien the rooster was running round — always raisin' hereafter 
early in the morniii' — a noosance, it was 

Enter Dax. 

Dan. Beg pardon ladles— T just ^teppnd in- 



16 THE POOfi OF KEW TORL, 

Lucy. Good day, Dan. 

Dan. Day, miss ! — [Aside to Mrs. Puffy.] Oh ! mother, ain't she 
pootty this mornin'. 

Mrs. P. [Smoothing her hair.] What have you got there, Dan'ell 

Dan. When I was paying the man for them birds — [Mrs. P. kicks 
him] — Creation ! mother — you're like the stocks — you can't move 
a'thout crushin somebody — well, he'd got this here pair o' boots 
ornder his arm — why, ses I, if ever der was a foot created small 
enough to go into them, thar, it is Miss Lucy's — so I brought them for 
you to look at. 

Lucy. They are too dear for me, Dan, pray give them back. 

Dan. Well, ye see — the man has kinder gone, Miss — he said he'd 
call again — some time next fall — 

Mrs. F. Dan — Mrs. Puffy — you are good, kind, dear souls — when 
the friends of our better days have deserted us — when the rich will 
scarcely deign to remember us — you, without any design, but with the 
goodness of God in your hearts — without any hope but that of hiding 
your kindness, you help me. Give me 3'our hands — I owe you too 
much already — but you must bestow on us no more out of your 
poverty. 

Mrs. P. Lord, Mrs! just as if me and Puffy could bestow any- 
thing — and what's Dan fit for 7 

Dan. Yes — what's I'm fit for'? 

Mrs. F. Well, I will accept your dinner to-day on one condition — 
that you will all dine Avith us. 

Mrs. P. Oh — my ! Dine with up-tov/n folks ! 

Lucy. Yes indeed, Dan, you must. 

Dan. Lord, miss! I aint no account at dinin' with folks — T take 
my food on the fust pile of bricks, anyhow. 

Mrs. P. I'm accustomed to mine standin', behind the counter. 

Dan. We never set down to it, square out — except on Sundays. 

Mrs. P. Then it don't seem natural — we never eat, each of us is 
employed a helping of the otlier. 

ban. I'll fix it! father, and mother, and I, will all wait on you. 

Lucy. [Laughing.] That's one wa-y of dining together, certainly. 

Enter Paul and Livixgstoxe. 

Liv. Here we are. Why, wliat a comfortable little cage this is I 

Dan. Let me take your coat and hat, sir. 

Liv. Thank you. [Exit Dax and Mrs. Puffy.] Kow like the old 
times, eh, Lucy ? [Sits by her. 

Mrs. F. [Aside to Paul.] Well, Paul, have you obtained eniploy- 
niejitl 

Paid. No, mother; but Livingstone is rich — he must have influence, 
and he will assist me. 

Mrs. F. Heaven help us ! I fear that the worst is not come. 

Paul. Nonsense, mother — cheer up ! Is there anything you have 
concealed from me 7 

Mrs. F. No — nothing you need know. [Aside.] If he knew that for 
fiv!i Aveeks we have been subsisting on the charity of these poor 
pt!)ple ! 



THE POOR OP EEW YORK. 17 

Enter Mrs. Pcffy with a pie, followed by Dan with a roast chicken, 
and Puffy, loaded ivith vlates and various aHicles of dinner 
service. 

Mrs. P, Here it is. 

Lucy. Stay — we must lay more covers ; help me, Paul. 

Liv. Let me assist you. {They join another table to the first 

Mrs. F. Mr. and Mrs. Puffy and Dan dine with us. 

Paul. Bravo ! 

Liv. Ilail Columbia ! [Dan begins dancing about, 

Lucy. Why, Dan — what's the matter 1 

Dan. Oh, nothing, miss. 

Lucy. How red your face is ! 

Dan. Don't mind, miss. 

Mrs. P. Oh Lord ! I forgot that dish; it has been in the oven for 
an hour. 

Dan. It aint at all hot. [Paul touches it and jumps away.] It's 
got to burn into the bone afore George Washington No. 4 gives in. 

[Lays doivn the plate — they all sit. 

Puffy. Now, this is agreeable — I have not felt so happy since I 
started my forty horse power oven. 

Liv. This pie is magnificent. [Mrs. Puffy rises. 

Mrs. P. Oh, sir, you make me feel good, 

Dan. [Holding the table.] Mother can't express her feelings with- 
out upsetting the table. 

Enter iivo Sheriff's Officers. 

Paul. What persons are these 1 

P"ffy- What di) you want 1 

First Sheriff's Officer. 1 am the Deputy Sheriff — I come at the suit 
of Gideon Bloodgood, against Susan Fairueather and Jonas Puff)' — 
amount of debt and costs, one hundred and fifty dollars. 

Paul. ]My mother ! 

Puffy. lie said he would see about it — Oh, Mrs. Fairweather — I 
hope you v.ill forgive me — I could'nt help it. 

Deputy Sheriff. I do not want to distress you; Mr. Livingnstono 
will perhaps i)ay the debt — or give me his check. 

Paul Livingstone ! 

Liv. [After a pause.] I cannot help you. Yes, I will rather appear 
what I am, a ruined man, than seem a contemptible one — I am pen- 
niless, broken — f ;r weeks I have been so — but I never felt my poverty 
till now. 

Tableau. 

END OP ACT 11. 



18 THE rOOR OP NKW YORK. 



ACT III. 



SCENE. — A Boom in the house o/ Gideon Bloodgood, the furniiure 
and ornaments are in a style of exaggerated richness white satin 
and gold. Bloodgood is discovered writing at a tahle on one side. 
Alida seated reading a newspaper on the other. 

Blood. What are you reading? 

Alida. Tlie New York Herald. 

Blood. You seem interested in it 1 

Alida. Very. Shall I read aloud 1 

Blood. Do. [Goes on writing. 

Alida. [Reads.] " Wall street is a perch, on which a row of human 
vultures sit, whetting their beaks, ready to fight over the carcass of a 
dying enterprise. Amongst these birds of prey, the most vulturous is 
perliaps Gid Bloodgood. This popular financier made his fortune in 
the lottery businebs. He then dabbled a little in the slave trade, as 
the Paraquiia case proved, — last week by a speculation in flour he 
made fifty thousand dollars, this operation raised the price of bread 
four cents a loaf, and now there are a thousand people starving in the 
hovels of New York — we nominate Gid for Congress, expenses to be 
paid by the admiring crowd — send round the hat." Father ! [Rises.] 
Are you not rich 1 

Blood. Why do you ask 1 

Alida. Because people say that riches are worshipped in New York, 
that wealth alone graduates society. This is false, for I am young, 
handsome and your heiress — yet I am refused admission into the best 
families here whose intimacy I have sought. 

Blood. Refused admission ! Is not Fifth Avenue open to you 7 

Alida. Fifth Avenue ! that jest is stale. Fifth Avenue is a shop 
where the richest fortunes are displayed like the dry goods in Stew- 
art's windows, and like them, too, are changed daily. But why do we 
not visit those families at whose Jiames all men and all journals bow 
with respect, the Livingstones, the Astors, Van Benssalaers. Father, 
these families receive men less rich than you — and honor many girls 
Who don't dress as well as I do, nor keep a carriage. 

Blood. Is not the Duke of Calcavella at my feet 1 

Alida. The Duke de Calcavella is an adventurer to whom you lend 
nione}', who escorts me to my box at tlie opera that he may get in 
free. 

Blood. You minx, you know you love him. 

Alida. I am not speaking of love — but of marriage. 

Blood. Marriage ! 

Alida. Yes, marriage ! This society in New York which has shut 
its doors against me, it is from amongst these families that I have 
resolved to choose a husband. 

Blood. [Rising.] Alida, do you already yearn to leave me 1 For 
j^ou alone I have hoarded my wealth — men have thought me miserly, 
when I have had but one treasure in the world, and that was you, my 



J9 THE POOR OF NEW YORK. 

only child To the rest of my fellow creatures I have "been cold and 
calculating, because in you alone was buried all the love my heart 
could feel— my fortune, take it, gratify your caprices— take it all, but 
leave rae vour afiection. 

AUda. You talk as if I were still a child. 

Blood. I would to God you were! Oh, Alida, if you knew how 
fearful a thing it is for a man like me to lose the only thing in the 
world that ties him to it ! ^ , -, r. i no 

Alida. Do you wish me to marry the Duke de Calcavella 1 

Blood. A roue, a gambler ! Heaven forbid ! 

Alida. Besides, they say he has a wife m Italy. 

Blood. I shall forbid him the house. 

Alida. No, you won't. 

Blood. His reputation will compromise yours. 

Alida. Judge ray nature by your own— I may blush from anger- 
never from shame. 

Enter Edwards. 

Edw. Mr. Mark Livingstone. 

Alida. Livingstone ! this is the first time that name has ever been 
announced in this house. 

Blood. He comes on business. Tell Mr. Livingstone I cannot see 
him. Beg him to call at my office to-morrow. 

Alida. Show him up. 

Blood. Alida! 

Alida. [Sliarply to Edwards.] Do you hear me '? 

Blood. This is tyranny— I— I— [//^ a rage to Edwards.] Well, 
blockhead, why do" you stand staring there ? Doirt you hear the 
order 1 Show him up. [^'.ri'j; Edwards. 

Alida. Livingstone ! 

Enter Mark Livingstone. 

Marie. Mr. Bloodgood— Miss Bloodgood— [^ow.?.] I am most for- 
tunate to find you at home. 

Alida. I trust that Mrs. Livingstone your mother, and Miss Living- 
stone your sister, are well 1 

Mark. [Coldly.] I thank you. [Gailxj.] Allow me to assure you 
that you were the belle of the opera last night. 

Alida. Yet you did not flatter me with your presence in our box. 

Mark. You noticed my absence ! you render me the happiest and 
proudest member of my club. 

Alida. By the way, papa, I thought you were going to be a mem- 
ber of the Union. 

Mark. Ahem ! [An awkward silence.] He was black-balled last 
week. 

Blood* I think, Mr. Livingstone you have some business with mo. 

Alida. Am I in the way 1 

Mark. Not at all— the fact is. Miss Bloodgood— my business can 
be explained in three words. 

Blood. Indeed ! 



20 THE POOR OF NEW YORK. 

Marie. I am ruined. 

Alida. Ruined ! 

Marie. My father lived in those days when fancy stocks were un- 
known, and consequently v\-as in a position to leave rae a handsome 
fortune. I spent it — extravagantly — foolishly. My mother, who loves 
me " not wisely but too well," heard that my name was pledged for 
a large amount, — Mr. Bloodgood held ray paper — she sold out all her 
fortune without my knowledge, and rescued my credit from dishonor. 

Blood. Allow me to observe, I think she acted honorably, but fool- 
ishly. 

Mark. [Boivs to Bloodgood.] She shared my father's ideas on these 
matters ; well, [turns to Alida,] finding I was such good pay, your 
father lent me a further sum of money, with which I speculated in 
stocks to recover my mother's loss — I bulled the market — lost — bor- 
rowed more — the crisis came — I lost again — until I found myself 
ruined. 

Blood. [Rising.] Mr. Livingstone, I anticipate the object of j'our 
present visit — you desire some accommodation — I regret that it is out 
of my power to accord it. If you had ap])lied to me a few days earlier 
I might have been able to — but — a — at the present moment it is quite 
impossible. 

Mark. [Aside] Impossible — the usual expression — I am familiar 
with it. [Rising — aloud.] I regret exceedingly that I did not fall 
on that more fortunate moment to which you allude — a thousand 
pardons for my untimely demand 

Blood. I hope you believe that I am sincere when I say 

Mark. Oh ! I am sure of it. Accept my thanks — good morning, 
Miss Bloodgood. 

Blood. [Ringing the hell.] I trust you will not be put to serious 
inconvenience. 

3Iark. Oh, no. [Aside.] A revolver will relieve me of every diffi- 
culty. [Aloud.] Good day, Mr. Bloodgood. [Exit. 

Blood. 1 like his impudence ! To come to me for assistance ! Let 
him seek it of his aristocratic friends — his club associates who black- 
balled me last Meek. 

Alida. [ Wlio has been seated writing at table.] Father, come here. 

Blood. What is it '? 

Alida. I am writing a letter which I wish you to sign. 

Blood. To whom ? 

Alida.. To Mr. Livingstone. 

Blood. To Livingstone ! 

Alida. Head it. 

Blood. [Reads.] " My dear sir, give yourself no further anxiety 
about your debt to me ; I will see that your notes are paid — and if the 
loan often thousand dollars will serve you, I beg to hold that amount 
at your service, to be repaid at your convenience. Your* truly." 
[Throvnn^ down letter.] I will write nothing of the kind. 

Alida. You are mistaken — you will write nothing else. 

Blood. With what object 1 

Alida. I want to make a purchase. 

Blood. Of what? 



1-Hfi fOOK OF NEW YORK. 2l 

Alida. Of a husband — a husband who is a gentleman — and through 
whom I can gain tliat position you cannot with all your wealth 
obtain — you see — the thing is cheaj) — there's the pen. 

[She rings a hell. 

Blood. Is your mind so set on this ambition 1 

Alida. If it cost half your fortune. [Bloodqood signs. 

Enter Edwards. 

[To servant.'] Deliver this letter immediately. 

Ediv. [Takes the letter and is going ovt, ivlien he runs against 
Badger, who is coolly entering.] I have told you already that my 
master is not to be seen. 

Bad. So you did — but you see how mistaken you were. There he 
is — I can see him distinctly. 

Blood. Badger ! [To Edwards.] You may go, Edwards. 

Bad. [To Edwards.] James — get out. 

Blood. What can he want here 7 

Bad. Respected Gideon, excuse my not calling more promptly, but 
since my return from California, this is my first appearance in fashion- 
able society. 

Alida. [Proudly.] Who is this fellow? 

Bad. Ail, Alida, how is the little tootles 1 You forget me. 

Alida. How can I recollect every begging iraposter who importunes 
my father. 

Bad. Charming ! The same as ever — changed in form — but the 
heart, my dear Gideon, the,same ever, is hard and dry as a biscuit. 

Alida. Father, give this wretch a dollar and let him go. 

Bad. Hullo! Miss Bloodgood, when I hand round the hat it is time 
enough to put something in it. Gideon, ring and send that girl of 
yours to her nurse. 

Alida. Is this fellow mad 1 

Blood. Hush ! my dear ! 

Alida. Speak out your business — I am familiar with all my fath- 
er's affairs. 

Bad. All 1 I doubt it. 

Enter Ei)'wat..ds, followed by Lucy. 

Edu\ This Avay, Miss. [To Alida.] Here is your dressmaker. 

Alida. [Eyeing Lucy.] Ha! you are the young person I met this 
morning walking with Mr. Livingstone ? 

Lucy. Yes, madam. 

Alida. Hum ! follow me, and let me see if you can attend on ladies 
as diligently as you do on gentlemen. . [Exeunt Alida and LrcY. 

Blood. [Looking inquiringly at Badger.] So you are here again. 
I thought you were dead. 

Bad. No ; here I am — like a bad shilling, come Ivck again. I've 
been all over the world since we parted twenty yea;- ago. Your 3,000 
dollars lasted me for some months in California, i Relieve me, had I 
known that, instead of absconding, you remained in New York, I 
would have hastened back again ten years ago, to shaie your revived 
fortunes. 



22 tHK fOOR OP NfiW 'lOnK. ^ 

Blood. I am av a loss to iinderstaud your allusions, sii'j — nor do I 
know the object of your return to this city. We have plenty of such 
persons as you in New York. 

Bad. The merchants of San I^rancisco did not think so, for they 
subscribed to send me home. 

Blood. What do you mean 1 

Bad. I mean the Vigilance Committee. 

Blood. And what do you intend to do here 7 

Bad. Reduced in circumstances and without character, the only 
resource left to me is to start a bank. 

Blood. Well, Mr Badger ; I cannot see in what Avay these things 
can affect 7ue ! 

Bad. Can't you 1 Ahem ! Do you ever read the Sunday 
papers '? 

Blood. Never. 

Bad. I've got a romance ready for one of them — allow me to give 
you a sketch of it. 

Blood. Sir — 

Bad. The scone opens in a bank in Nassau street. Twenty years ago 
a very respectable old sea captain, one winter's night, makes a special 
deposit of one hundred thousand dollars — nobody present but the 
banker and one clerk. The old captain takes a receipt and goes on 
his way rejoicing — but, lo ! and behold you ! — in half an hour he re- 
turns — having ascertained a fact or two, he demands his money back, 
but while receiving it he is seized by a fit of apoplexy, and he dies 
on the spot. End of Chapter One. 

Blood. Indeed, Mr. Badger, your romance is quite original. 

Bad. Ain't it ! never heard it before, did you 1 — no ! Good ! 
Chapter Two. [Pointedly.] The banker and his clerk carried the body 
out on the sidewalk, where it was discovered, and the next day the 
Coroner's Jury returned a verdict accordingly. The clerk receiv- 
ing 3,000 dollars hush money left for parts unknown The ban- 
ker remained in New York, and on the profits of this plunder es- 
tablished a colossal fortune. End of Part No. 1 — to be continued in 
our next. 

.Blood. And what do you suppose such a romance will be worth % 

Bad. I've come to you to know. 

Blood. I am no judge of that. 

Bad. Ain't you ? — well — in Part No. 2,1 propose to relate that this 
history is true in every particular, and I shall advertise for the heirs 
of the dead man. 

Blood. Ha ! you know his name then '?, 

Bad. Yes, but I see you don't. I Avrote the acknowledgment which 
you signed — you had not even the curiosity then to read the name of 
your victim. 

Blood. Really, Mr. Badger, I am at a loss to understand you. Do 
you mean to insinuate that this romance applies in any way to me 1 

Bad. It has a distant reference. 

Blood. Your memory is luxurious — perhaps it can furnish some 
better evidence of this wonderful story than tlie word of a convict, 
ejected from California as a precaution of public t^afety. 



IHE FOOIl OK ^'EW YORK. 23 

Bad. You are right — my word is not worth much. 

Blood. I fear not. 

Bad. But the receipt, signed by you, is worth a good deal 

Blood. {Starting.] Ha! you lie! 

Bad. Let us proceed with my romance. When the banker and his 
clerk searched for the receipt, they could not find it — a circumstance 
which only astonished one of the villains — because the clerk had 
picked up the document and secured it in his pocket. I don't mean to 
insinuate that this applies in any way to you. 

Blood, villain ! 

Bad. Moral : As a general rule, never destroy receipts — it is no 
knowing when they may not prove useful. 

Blood. Were it so, this receipt is of no value in your hands — the 
heirs of the dead man can alone establish a claim. 

Bad. {Rising.] That's the point — calculate the chance of my find- 
ing them, and let me know what it is worth. 

Blood. What do you demand % 

Bad. Five thousand dollars. 

Blood. Five thousand devils ! 

Bad. You refuse 7 

Hlood. I defy you — find the heir if you can. 

Enter Edwards. 
Edw. Mr. Paul Fair weather ! 
Enter Paul. Badger starts, then falls laughing in a chair. 

Blood. Your business, sir, with me. 

Paid. Oh, pardon me, Mr. Bloodgood — but the officers have seized 
the furniture of our landlord — of your tenant — for a debt owed by my 
mother. I come to ask your mercy — utter ruin awaits two poor fam- 
ilies. 

Bad. Oh, Supreme Justice ! there is the creditor, and there is the 
debtor, 

Paul. INIy mother — my sister — I plead for them, not for myself 

Blood. I have Avaited long enough. 

Bad. {Rising.] So have I. {To Paul.] Have you no friends or re- 
lations to help you 7 

Paul. None, sir ; my father is dead. ' 

[Bloodgood returns to his table. 

Blood. Enough of this. {Rings the bell. 

Bad. Not quite ; I feel interested in this young gentleman — don't 
you 7 

Blood. Not at all ; therefore my servant will show you both out — 
so 3'ou may talk this matter over elsewhere. 

Bad. {To Paul.] Y'our name is familiar to me — was your father in 
trade '? 

Paul. He was a sea captain. 

Bad. Ah ! he died nobly in some storm, I suppose — the last to leave 
his ship ] 



2-i THE POOR OF isEW TORK. 

Paul. No, sir, he died miserably ! ten years ago, his body was 
found on the sidewalk in Liberty street, where he fell dead by apo- 
plexy. 

Blood. [Rising.] Ah ! 

Enter Edwards. 

Bad. James, show us out — we'll talk over this matter elsewhere. 

Blood. No — you — you can remain. Leave us, Edwards. 

Bad. Ah, I told you that the young man was quite interesting. 
Alphonse, get out. [Exit Edwards. 

Blood. My dear Mr. Badger, I think we have a little business to 
settle together 1 

Bad. Yes, my dear Gideon. [Aside to him.] Stocks have gone up — 
I want fifty thousand dollars for that receipts 

Blood. Fifty thousand ! 

Bad. [Aside.] You see the effect of good news on the market — 
quite astounding ; ain't it 1 

Blood If you will step down to the dining-room, you will find lunch 
prepared — refresh yourself, while I see what can be done for this 
young man. 

Bad. [Aside.] What fire you up tol You want to fix him — • 
to try some game to euchre me. Go it ! I've got the receipt ; you're 
on the hook — takeout all the line you want. [Colls.] Ho! without 
there ! 

Enter Edward & 

Maximilian, vamos! Show me to the banquetting-hall. 

[Exit, with Edwards. 

Blood.. Your situation interests me ; but surely, at your age — you 
can find employment. 

Paul. Alas, sir, in these times, it is impossible. I would work, 
yes, at any kind of labor — submit to anything, if I could save my 
mother and my sister from want. 

Blood. Control your feelings : perhaps I can aid you. 

Paul. Oh, sir, 1 little expected to find in you a benefactor. 

Blood. My correspondents at Rio Janeiro require a book-keeper — 
are j''ou prepared to accept this situation 7 but there is a condition 
attached to this employment that may not suit you — you must start 
by the vessel which sails to-morrov,'. 

Paul. To-morrow ! 

Blood. I will hand you a thousand dollars in advance of salary, to 
provide for your mother and sister ; they had better leave this city 
until they can follow you. You hesitate. 

Paul. Oh, sir, 'tis my gratitude that renders me silent. 

Blood You accept 1 the terms are two thousand dollars a year. 

Paul. [Seizing his hand.] Mr. Bloodgoud, the prayers of a family 
whom you have made happy, will prosper your life. God bless you, 
sir ! I speak not for myself, but for those still more dear to me. 

Blood. Call again in an hour, when your papers of introduction and 
the money shall be read}'. 

Paul. Farewell, sir. I can scarcely believe my good fortune. [Exit. 




THE POOR OF NEW tORK. 25 

Blood. So, now to secure Badger. [Sitting down and writing.] He 
must, at any risk, be prevented from communicating with the mother 
and daughter until they can be sent into some obscure retreat. I 
doubt that he is in possession of tliis receipt, [7'ings a 6eZZ,] but I 
will take an assurance about that. [Rings. 

Enter Edwards. 

Take this letter instantly to the office of the Superintendent of Police. 
[Exit Edwards.] Ha! Badger, when you find the heirs of the 
estate gone, you will perhaps come down in your terms. You 
did not remain long enough in California to measure wits with Gideon 
Bloodgood. [Exit. 

Enter Lucy. 

LiiCT/. I will do my best, miss, to please you. On, et me hasten 
from this house ! 

Enter Mark Livingstone. • 

Mark. Lucy ! 
Lucy. Mark ! 

Mark. What brings you here 1 
Lucy. What brings the poor into the saloons of the rich 1 

Enter Alida, iinseen by the others, 

Alida. [Aside.] Mr. Livingstone here, and with this girl! 

Mark. My dear Lucy, I have news, bright news, that will light up 
a smile in your eyes — I am once more rich. But before I relate my 
good fortune, let me hear from you the consent to share it. 

Lucy. What do you mean 7 

Mark. I mean, dearest one, that I love you — I love you with all my 
reckless, foolish, worthless heart. 

Alida. [Advancing.] Mr, Livingstone, my father is waiting for you 
in his study. 

Mark. A thousand pardons, Miss Bloodgood ; I was not aware — 
excuse me. [^IsicZe.] I wonder if she overheard me. [To Lucy.] I will 
see you again this evening. [Exit. 

Alida. [To liVCY, who is going.] Stay; one word with you. Mr. 
Livingtone loves you ? do not deny it, I have overheard you. 

Lucy. Well, Miss Bloodgood, I have no account to render you in 
this matter. 

Alida. I beg your pardon — he is to be my husband. 

Lucy. Your husband 1 

Alida, Be quiet and listen, Mr. Livingstone is ruined — my father 
has come to his aid ; but one word from me, and the hand, extended 
to save him from destruction, will be withdrawn, 

Lucy. But you will not speak that word 1 

Alida. That depends 

Lucy. On what 1 his acceptance of your hand 1 he does not love 
you. 

Alida. That is not the question. 

Lucy. You have overheard that he loves me. 

Alida. That is no concern ef mine. 



26 THE POOH OF NEW YORK, • 

Lucy. And you will coldly buy this man for a husband, knowing 
that you condemn him to eternal misery ! 

Alida. You are candid, but not complimentary. Let us hope that 
in lime he will forget you, and learn to endure me. 

Lucy. Oh, you do not love him. I see, it is his name you require 
to cover the shame which stains your father's, and which all his wealth 
cannot conceal. Thank Heaven ! his love for me will preserve him 
from such a cowardly scheme. 

Alicia. I will make him rich. What would you make him? 

Lucy. I would make him happy. 

Alida. Will you give him up ? 

Lucy. Never ! 

Alida. Be it so. 

Re-emer Maiik. 

Marli. Lucy, dear Lucy , do you see that lady 1 — she is my 
guardian angel. To her I owe my good fortune — Mr. Bloodgood has 
told me all, and See, this letter is in her own handwriting; now, let 
me confess, Miss Bloodgood, that had I not been thus rescued from 
ruin, I had no other resource but a Colt's revolver. 

Lucy. Mark ! 

3Io.rk. Yes, Lucy — I had resolved I could not endure the shame 
and despair which beset me on all sides. But let us not talk of such 
madness — let us only remember that I owe her my life. 

Alida. [Aside.] And I intend to claim the debt. 

3Iark. More than my life — I owe to her all that happiness which 
you will bestow upon me. 

Lucy. Me ! me ! — ]Mark ! — No, it is impossible. 

Mark. Impossible ! 

Ljucy. I cannot be your wife. 

Mark. What mean you, Lucy 7 

Lucy. [ With a supreme effoH.'l I — I do not love you. 

Mark. You je^t, Lucy — yet, no — there are tears in your eyes. 

Lucy. [Looking away.] Did I ever tell you that I loved youl 

Mark. No, it is true — but your manner, your looks, I thought 

Lucy. You are not angry with me, are you 7 

Mark. I love you too sincerely for that, and believe me I will never 
intrude again on your family, where my presence now can only pro- 
duce pain and restraint ; may I hope, however, that you will retain 
enough kindness towards me, as to persuade your mother to accept 
ray friendship 7 It Avill soothe the anguish you have innocently in- 
flicted, if your family will permit me to assist them. Have you the 
generosity* to make this atonement'? I know it Mill pain you all — 
but you owe it to me. [Lucy falls, weeping, in a chaxr.] Pardon me, 
Miss Bloodgood. Farewell, Lucy. [To Alida.] I take my leave. 



Alida. He lias gone — you may dry your eyes. 
Lucy. Oh ! I know what starvation is — I have met Avant face to 
face, and I have saved him from that terrible extremity. 

Alida. He offered you money ; I should prefer that my husband 



THE POOR OF KEW^ YORK, 27 

should not have pecuniary relations with you — at least, not at pres- 
ent — so, as you arc in Avant — here is some assistance. 

[Offers her purse to Lucy. 
Lucy. [Rising.'\ You insult me, Miss Bloodgood. 
Alida. How can an ofier of money insult anybody 1 
Lucy. You thought I sold my heart — no — I gave it. Keep your 
gold, it would soil my poverty ; you have made two fellow-beings 
unhappy for life — God forgive you ! [Exit. 

Re-enter Bloodgood. 

Blood. "What is the matter, Alida 1 

Re-enter Badger. 

Bad. Yoiir cook is perfect, your wine choice. [He •pockets the nap- 
kin.] Well, now suppose we do a little business. 

Blood. [Rings hell.] It is time we began to understand each 
other. 

Enter Edwards. 

Has that letter been delivered 1 

[Edwards hows, and at a sign from Bloodgood, exit. 

Bad. Do you wish to enter into particulars in the presence of this 
charming creature % 

Blood. Her presence will not affect our business. 

Re-enter Edwards, andu tico Police Officers. 

Bad. Just as you please. What proposition have you to make ? 

Blood. I propose to give you into custody for an attempt to extort 
money by threats and intimidation. 

1st. Pol. You are our prisoner. 

Bad. Arrested ! 

Blood. Let him be searched ; on his person will be found a receipt 
signed by me, which he purloined from my desk yonder. 

Bad. Well played, my dear Gideon, but, knowing the character of 
the society into which I was venturing, I left the dear document safe 
at home. Good morning, Gid — Miss Bloodgood, yours. General — 
Colonel — take care of me. [ Goes vp with Policemen. 



BKD OF ACT III. 



2o THE l^OOR OF KEW YOMit. « 

ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — Union Square — Night. TJie snow f alls. 

Puffy discovered, r. h., with a pan of roasting chestnuts. Paul 
crouches in a corner of the streets 

Puffy. iiOrd ! how cold it is. I can't sell my chestnuts. 1 thought 
if I posted myself just here, so as to catch the grand folks as they go 
to the opera, they might fancy to take in a pocket-full, to eat during 
the performance. 

£JnterDA-s, with two trunks on his shoulders, followed hy a Gentleman. 

Dan. There is the hotel. I'll wait here while you see if you can 
get a room. [Exit Gentleman, into hotel. 

Puffy. Dan, my boy, what cheer 1 

Da7i. This is the fust job I've had to-day. 

Puffy. I've not taken a cent. 

Dan. Have you been home to dinner 7 

Piffy. No ; I took a chestnut. There wasn't more than enough 
for the old woman and you, so I dined out. 

t)an. I wasn't hungry much, so I boried a bit o' 'bacca. 

Puffy. Then the old Avoman had all the dinner, that's some comfort- 
one of us had a good meal to-day. 

Dan. I don't know, father — she's just Ugly enough to go and pUt 
it by for our supper. 

Enter Mks. Puffy, ^vith a tin can. 

Puffy. Her*", she is, 

Mrs. P. Ain't you a nice pair 1 For five mortal hours I've been 
carryin* this dinner up and down Broadway* 

Dan. I told you so. 

Mrs. P. You thought to give old mother the slip, you undootiful 
villin — ^but I've found ye both. Come, here's your suppers — I've 
kept it warm under my cloak. 

Puffy. Lay the table on the gentleman's trunk. 

Dan. [Looking into the tin can.'\ A splendid lump of bread, and a 
chunk of beef! 

Puffy. Small feed for three human beings. 

Dan. Here goes. 

Puffy. Stay, Dan. [Placing his hands over the bread.] God bless 
us, and pity the Poor of New York. Now, I'll share the food in three. 

Dan. [Pointing to Paul.] Father, that cuss in the corner there 
looks kinder bad — suppose you have the food in four. 

3Irs. P. I don't want none. Give him mine — I ain't at all cold. 

Dan. Mother, there's a tear on the end of your nose — let me break 
it off. 

Mrs. P. Get out. 

Dan. [Takes apince of bread, and goes to t'AUL.] Hello, stranger! 
He's asleep. 



THE POOR OF NEW YORK, 29 

Mrs. p. Then don't wake him. Leave the bread in his lap. [Dak 
places the bread, softly, beside Paul, and rejoins the party — they eat. 

Enter a Geniij'ema^ , followed by Badger. 

Bad. [ Very ragged, with some opera books in one hand, and boxes 
of matches in the other.] Book of the opera, sir 7 take a book, sir — 
they will charge you double inside. Well, buy a box of lucifers — a 
hundred for three cents. [Dodging in front of him, to prevent him 
passing.] Genuine Pollak's — try one. [Exit Gextleman — Badger 
changes his tone, and calls after him.] If you're short of cash, I'll 
lend you a shilling. He wants all he has got to pay his omnibus. 
Jerusha! ain't it cold ! Tum-iddy-tum-iddy-tum. [Performs a short 
dance, while he hums a banjo melody.] I could play the banjo on my 
Stomach, while all my shivering anatomy would supply the bones. 

Enter Mrs. Fairweather, 

Mrs. F. I cannot return to our miserable home without food for my 
children. Each morning, we separate in search of Avork, in search of 
food, only to meet again at night — their poor faces thin with hunger. 
[She clasps her hands in anguish.] Ah ! what's here 1 yes, this re- 
mains — it is gold ! 

Bad^ [Overhearing her last word.] Gold! Book of the opera, 
ma'am 7 

Mrs. F. Tell me, friend, where can I buy a loaf of bread at this 
hour 1 

Bad. There's a saloon open in the 4tli avenue. [Aside.] Gold — she 
said gold. 

Mrs. F. Will they accept this pledge for some food 1 

[Shows a ring to Badger. 

Bad. [Eagerly.] Let me see it. [Looks round. 

Mrs. F. It is ray wedding ring. 

[Badger examines it by the light of the Druggist's window 

Bad. [Aside.] I can easily make off with it. 

[Rubs his nose with the ring ichile he considers 

Mrs. F. My children are starving — I must part with it to buy them 
bread. 

Bad. [ Whistles — hesitates — and returns the ring.] Go along, go, 
buy your children food, start, and don't show that ring to anybody 
else. You deserve to lose it for showing it to such a blackguard as I 
am. [Exit Mrs. Fairweather. 

Enter BLOODGObn. 

Blood. What's the time. The opera must be nearl}- over. 

[Look's at his watch by the light of the Druggist's window. 

Bad. Book of the opera, sir — only authorized edition. [Recogniz- 
ing him.] Bloodgood ! 

Blood. Badger ! 
[They advance. Bloodgood puts his handinto the breast of his coat. 

Bad. Ah, my dear Gideon — [Suddenly.] Take your hand out of 
your breast — come ! none of that — I've a knife up my sleeve that 



30 THE POCR OF NEW YORK. 

would rip you up like a dried codfish before you could cock that 
revolver you have there so handy. 

Blood. [ Withdrawing his hand.] You are mistaken. 

J3ad. Oh, no ! I am not. I have not been ten years in California 
for nothing — you were just thinking that you could blow out ray 
brains, and swear that I was trying to garrote you. 

Mood. What do you want 1 

Bad. I want your life — but legally. A week ago, I came out of 
prison — you had removed the Fairweather family — I could not find a 
trace of theni but I found the receipt where I had concealed it. To- 
morrow I shall place it in the hands of the District Attorney with my 
confession of our murder of the Sea Captain. 

Blood. Murder — 

Bad. Only think what a fine wood cut for the Police Gazette we 
shall make, carrying out the dead body between us. 

Blood. Demon ! 

Bad. There will be a correct plan of your backoflSce in the Herald — 
headed — the Bloodgood Tragedy. 

Blood. Come to my house to-morrow, and bring that document with 
you. 

Bad. No, sir — ee ! once caught twice shy. You owe me a call. 
Come to my house, to-night — and alone. ^ 

Blood. Where do you live 1 

Bad. Nineteen and a half Cross street. Five Points — fifth floor 
back — my name is on the door in chalk. 

Blood. In an hour I will be there. 

Bad. In an hour. Don't forget to present my compliments to your 
charming daughter — sweet creature ! the image of her father — how 1 
should like to write something in her album. [Exit Bloodgood. 

Enter two Gentlemen /rom Hotel — they talk. 

[Cries.] Here's lucifers — three cents a hundred. 

[Gentlemen shake hands and separate. 
[Following one off.] Here's this miscellaneous stock of lumber, just 
imported from Germany, to be sold out — an alarming sacrifice, in con- 
sequence of the present state of the money market. 

[Exit importuning the gentleman, who tries to escape. 

Puffy. Come, mother, we must get home — 

Mrs. P. Dan, have you seen nothing of jioor Mrs. Fairweather and 
ter children 1 

Dan. No, mother — I can't find out where they have gone to — I 
guess they've quit New York. 

3Irs. P. God help them — wherever they are ! 

Pwffy. Come^ mother. 
[Music — Puffy and Mrs. P. go out — Dan goes up and speaks <wHh 

gentleman. 

Enter Lucy. 

Lucy. This is the place. The sisters of charity in Houston street 
told me that I might find work at this address. [Reads paper.] 14th 
street. Oh, Heaven ! be merciful to me, this is my kist hope. [Exit. 



THE POOR OP NEW YORK. 31 

Paul rises and comes forward. 

Paul. My limbs are powerless. How long have I slept there '?-- 
another long day has passed— T have crept round the hotels— the 
wharves-I have begged for work— but they laughed at my poor thin 
form— the remnant of better days hung in tatters about »^e— and 1 
was thrust from the door, by stronger wretches than I To day I 
applied to getemploymentasawaiter inahotel— butno, I looked too 
miserable. Oh, mv mother ! my poor mother! my dear sister ! were 
it not for you, I would lie down here and die where I was born, m the 
streets of New York. ,^ _^ i ^ . „ 

Dan. All right, sir— to the Brevoort House. Here, you lazy cuss, 
shoulder this trunk, and earn a quarter— 

Enter a Porter. 

Paul. Yes— oh, gladly !— . j. -o ,.v^. 

Po7-ier It's mvself will do that same. [Paul and jJ/i^ Porter seize 

the trunk.] Lave yer hoult— you dandy chap wid the black coat. 
Paul He called to me. , . , , , , , , 

Porter. Is it the likes of you— that ud be takm' the bread out of 

the mouths of honest folks. 

Paul God help me ! I have not tasted bread for two days, 
Porter. The Lord save us ! why did'nt ye say so ?— take the trunk 

and welkim. [Paul trying to lift it.] , [^ri^ Dax. 

Gent. Come along, quick ! [E.vit OrEXTLEMA^^ 

Paul. [ Unable to lift it, staggers hack:] I— I— can't— I am too weak 

from hunger. _ 7 • i ? 

Porter. Look at this, mv jewel. \Tossing the trunk on his shoul- 
der.] That's the wav of id— all right, yer honor ! [Exit Porter. 

Paul [Falling against the lamp-j>ost in despair, on his knees.] 
Oh, God !— you who have refused to me the force to earn my bread, 
give me the resignation to bear your will. 

Re-enter Lucv. 

Lucy. The ladv was from home— they told me to call next week— 
oh, could I see "some kindly face— I would beg, yes— I would ask 

alms. 

Enter a Gexti.kman. 

Sir — pardon me — would ymi— — 
aent. Eh? 

Lucy. [Stammering.] I — I — 1 

Gent, y^hdit do vou want 1 

Lucy. [Faintly] The— the— Bowery— if— if— you please— 
Gent. Just turn to the right, and keep strait on. [Exit. 

Lucy. Oh coward ! coward ! — I have not the courage to beg. 

Enter Mrs Fairweather. 

Mrs. F. They refused to take my ring — they said I had stolen it-- 
They drove me from the house. To what have I come !— to beg in 
the streets — ves, for them, for my children! 



82 THE POOR OF NEW YORK. 

Paul, [Rising.] Let me return to our liome — perhaps motlier or 
Lucy may liaA'e found work. 

Mrs. F. Sir ! sir !-^In the name of your mother — help my poor 
children. 

Lucy. [Covering hei\face with one hand, and holding out the other.] 
For pity's sake — give me the price of 

Paul Mother ! ! 



Lucy. My Brother ! ^ Together. 

3Irs. F. My Son ! 

Paul. Oh, mother! my own Lucy! my heart is broken! [They 
embrace.] Have you concealed from me the extent of your misery 1 

Mrs. F. My son ! my poor children ! I cannot see you die of hun- 
ger and cold ! 

Paul. Take Lucy home, mother — and I wiH bring you food. 

Mrs. F. Paul, promise me that nothing will tempt you to a dishon- 
orable act. 

Paul. Do not fear, mother ; the wretched have always one resource 
— they can die ! Do not weep, Lucy — in an hour I will be with you. 

[Exeunt Lucy and Mrs. F. 
I will go and await the crowd as they leave the Academy of Music — • 
amongst them Heaven will inspire some Christian heart to aid me. 

[Exii. 

SCENE IL — Tlie vestibule of the Academy of Music. 
Enter Alida andj Livingstone. 3Iusic within. 

Alida. How strange that my father has not returned. 

Mark. Allow me to look for the carriage. 

Alida. I Avill remain here. Exit Livingstone. 

At last I have won the husband I desire. He is entangled in my fa- 
ther's debt : in one month hence I shall be Livingstone's wife. Our box 
is now crowded with the first people in New York. — The dear Duke 
still makes love to me — to which Livingstone appears indifferent — so 
much the better — once Mrs. Livingstone he mavdo as he likes and so 
will L . 

Enter Paul. 

Paul. Ah ! 'tis she — Alida Bloodgood. 

Alida. I wonder they permit such vagabonds to hang about the 
opera. 

Re-enter Livingstone. 

Mark. The carriage is ready — [Recognizing Paul] Paul ! 
Paul. Livingstone ! 

Mark. Great heaven! In what a condition do I find you. 
Paid. We are poor — we are starving. 
Alida. Give the fellow a dollar, and send him away. 
Mark. My dear Alida, you do not know — this is a school-fellow — • 
an old friend — 

Alida. I know that you are keeping me in the cold — ah ! I see tho 



THE POOR OP NEW YORK. ^ 33 

Duke of Calcavella on the steps yonder, smoking a cigar. He will 
see me home, don't let me take you from your old friend. 

[Exit. 

Mark. [Aside.] Cold— heartless girl ! [Aloud.] Come, Paul, come 
quickly, bring me to where I shall find your mother— your sister — 
stay, let me first go honie, and get money, I will meet you at your 
lodgings — where do you live 1 

Paul. Number nineteen and a half Cross street — Five Points — I 
will wait for you at the door. 

Mark. In less than an hour I shall be there. [Uxeunt. 

SCENE. — JVo. 19)^ Cross street — Five Points. Tivo adjoining attic 
rooms. That of Badger, L. n. That of the Vairv: bather family 
R. H. Music. Lucy is seated c. and Mrs. Fairweather kneels r. 

Lucy. Surely an hour has passed and Paul has not returned. . 
Jfrs. F. Oh, merciful father! protect my poor children. 

Enter Badger in his attic r. n. with his box of matches. He scrapes 
several which do not light. Mrs. F. rises and goes to windoiv. 

Bad. One hundred matches like that for one cent. [Lighting one.] 
Oh, lucky chance ! Here's one that condescends. 

[Lights a candle in a bottle. 

Mrs. F. Day after day goes by— no hope— the future worse than 
the present— dark— dark. Oh ! this load of .wretchedness is too 
much to bear. 

Jjucy. The candle is going out. 

Mrs. F. So much the better, I shall not be able to see your tears. 

[Lucy rests her face on her hands. 

Bad. [Taking a bottle from his jjocket.] There's the concentrated 
essence of comfort — the poor man's plaster for the inside. 

Lucy. [Aside.] Is there no Avay to end this misery 1 None but 
death ! 

Bad. [Taking from 2oocket a slice of bread and meat wrapped in a 
bit of newspaper.] Here's my supper. [Addressing an imaginary 

servant.] James, lay the table— spread the table cloth. — " Yes sa" 

[Places the newspaper over the table.] Ifs cold here, there's a draught 
in this room, somewhere.— James, champagne. Thank you, James. 

[Drinks and eats. 

Mrs. F. [Aside, coming down r.] If Paul had only Lucy to sup- 
port, they might live — why should I prolong my life' only to hasten 
theirs. 

Bad. The draught comes from — [examining the trail] — ves there 
are great chinks in the wall— I must see my landlord and solicit 
repairs. A new family moved into the next room, yesterday ; I won- 
der who they are 1 

Lucy. The ^yretched always have one resource — they can die ! 

Bad. [At his table eating — he has taken the blanket from his bed, 
and wrapped it about his shoulders.] Now let us do a little business. 
James, turn up the gas. Ves sa !— [^e snuffs the candle with his 



34 THE POOR OF NE-^V YORK. 

fingers.] Thank you. Ahem ! James, Bloodofood is coming for the 
receipt bequeathed to me by the old sailor. What price shall we set 
upon it, James 1 

Lucy. [Aside.'] When I am gone, there will be one mouth less to 
feed — Paul will have but one care to provide for. 

Mrs. F. [Aside] In this room, we had some charcoal — ^there is 
enough left to bestow on me an easy death. 

[Mrs. Fairweather exits hy door r. h. 

Bad. I think ^50,000 would be the figure — Oh, what a prospect 
opens before me — 50,000 dollars — I should resume specie payments. 

Lucy, [Looks into r. n. room.] What is mother doing ? ah, she is 
lighting the pan of charcoal on which we prepare our food — ah ! — ■ 
the thought ! — could I induce her to leave me alone. Hem. — The 
deadly fumes of that fuel will bestow on me an easy death. 

IL's. F. [Re-ente7's.] It is there — now, now, while I have the cour- 
age of despair. 

Bad. 50,000 dollars ! I'll have a pair of fast trotters, and dine at 
Delmonico's. James, more champagne. [Takes a drink from bottle.] 
Thank you — 

Lucy and Mrs. F. [Together.] Mother — Lucy. 

Lucy. Dear mother — I have just thought of a friend — a — a — fellow 
work girl, from whom I may get assistance — ■ 

Mrs. F. Go, then, my child — yes — go at once. 

Lucy. I fear to go alone. Come with me, you can wait at the corner 
of the street until I come out. 

3Irs. F. [Patting on her honnet. Aside.] AVhen she is out of 
sight, I can return and accomplish my purpose. 

Lucy. [Casting a cloak over her head. Aside.] I will come back 
b}^ another way. 

Mrs. F, Come, Lucy. 

Lucy. I am ready, mother. [Aside.] She does not think that we 
are about to part forever. 

3Irs. F. [Aside.] My poor child ! 

Lucy. Kiss me — mother, for my heart is cold. [They embrace, 

Bad. [Cogitating.] 50,000 dollars ! I'll have a box at Grace church 
and a pew at the opera. 

Lucy. Mother, I am ready, [Exuent, 

Bad. [Finding his bottle empty.] What's the news 1 Let us con- 
sult my table cloth. What journal have we here. [Reads.] " Cheva- 
lier Greoly has got a new hat." — It's the Herald — What's here? — 
[Reads.] "You lie— villainy — you lie, and you know it." No! it's 
the Tribune. 

Enter Bloodgood. 

Blood. Ah, Mr. Badger. 

Bad. Please to wipe your feet, before you come in — my carpet is 
new. I am glad to see you. Take a seat upon the sofa. 

[Pointing to bed. 

Blood,. Come, sir; to business. You have the receipt with you, I 
suppose 7 



rilE POOU OP NEW YORK. 35 

Bad. You know I've got it, or you would not have come. 
Blood. How much do you want for it '? 

Bad, Stay a moment. Let us see. You have had for iwenty years 
in your possession, the sum of $100,000, the profits of one roljbery — 
well, at eight per cent, this sum would now be doubled. 
Blood. Let me see the document, and then we can estimate its value. 
Bad. [Drawing receipt from pocket.] Here it is. 
Blood. {Springing towards liim.\ Let me have it. 
Bad. Hands oft'! 

Blood. [Drawing pistol.] That paper, give it me, or I'll blow your 
brains out ! 

Bad. [Edging slowly ioxvard.s the bed.] Ah ! that's your calculation. 
Blood. Now you are in my power. 

Bad. It's an old dodge, but ineffective. Come, no violence — I'll give 
you the paper. 
Blood. A bullet is good argument. 

Bad. [Drawing from beneath his pillow, tivo enormous pistols.] A 
brace of bullets are better still ! 
Blood. Damnation ! 

Bad. Derringer's self-cocking. Drop your hand, or I'll blow yoi; 
into pi. — So. you took me for a fool : — that's where you made a mis- 
take. I took you for a thorough rascal, that's where I did not make 
a mistake. Now, to business. 

Blood. [Surlili/.] How much do you want ? 
Bad. Fifty thousand dollars ! 
Blood. Be it so. 
Bad. In gold, or Chemicals. 
Blood. Very well. To-morrow — 
Bad. No — to-night. 
Blood. To-night ! 

Bad. Yes ; I wish to purchase a brown stone house on the tivenue, 
early in the morning. 

Blood. Come with me to my house in Madison square. 
Bad. No, thank you. I'll expect you here in an hour willi the 
money. 

Blood. [Aside.] He has me in his power — I must yield. [Aloud.] 
I will return, then, in an hour. 

Bad. Let me light you out. Mind the bannister — don't break youi 
precious neck, at least, not to-night. No, go in front, will you? 1 
j)refer it. 

Blood. What for] 

Bad. [ With jnstol and candle.] A fancy of mine — a want of confi- 
dence. A want of confidence, in fact, pervades the community. 

[Exeunt. 
Re-enter Lucy. 

Lucy. I took a cross street, and ran rapidly home. Now I am 
alone ; the fumes of the charcoal will soon fill this small room. They 
say it is an easy death — but let me not hesitate — let me slpep the 
long sleep where there ar^ no more toars, no more suffering. 

"^ E.iil into closet, r. h. 



86 THE POOR OP NEW YORK. • 

Re-enter Badgek. 

Bad. So ! that is settled, I hope he will be cautious and escape 
the garroters, James, my chibouque. \Takes his pipe. 

Re-enter Mrs. Fairweather, r. h. 

Mrs. F. Poor Lucy ! I dared not look back upon her, as we parted 
forever. Despair hastened my steps. My poor children ! I have given 
you all I had, and now I hope my wretched life will serve you in your 
terrible need. Come, courage ; let me prevent the fresh air from en- 
tering. 

[Takes bits of linen and stops ivindow and door. 

Bad. {Snuffing.} I smell charcoal — burning charcoal — where can 
it come from 1 

Mrs. F. Now let me stop the door. 

Bad. [Smoking.] It's very odd; I've a queer feeling in my head ; 
let me lie down awhile. [Lies on his bed. 

Enter Lucy, with a brazier of charcoal, aligjit. 

Mrs. F. That's done. [Going towards closet, and meeting Lucy.] 
Now the hour has come. 
. Lucy. The moment has arrived. [Sets down the brazier. 

Mrs. F. Lucy ! 

Lucy. Mother! 

Mrs. F. My child, what is thisl For what purpose are you here ? 

Lucy. And you, mother, why have you fastened those apertures so 
closely % Like mo, you wished to die ! 

Mrs. F. No, no, you shall not die ! my darling child — you are 
young — life is before you — -hope — happiness. 

Lucy. The future ! what is it 1 The man I love will soon wed ano- 
ther, I have no future, and the present is a torture. 

Mrs. F. Hush, »ny child, hush ! 

Lucy. Is it not lielter to die thus, than by either grief or hunger? 

Mrs'. F. [Falling in a chair.] Already my senses fail me. Lucy, 
my child, live, live ! 

Lucy. [Falls at her feet.] No: let us die together — thus, mother — 
as often I knelt to you as a child, let me pray for those we love. 

Mrs. F. Oh, merciful Judge in heaven, forgive us — forgive my 
child — and let — your anger fall — on me — alone 

Jjucy. God bless my dear brother — and you my dear Mark, may — 
you be — hap — [Murmcrs the rest of the prayer. 

Bad. It's very cold ! I feel quite sleei)y. I must not go to sleep. 
[Sijigs in a lojv voice.] '• Oh, down in ole Virginny." 

Faul. [ Without, knocking.] Mother, open the door, Avhy is tho 
door locked ? Mother, mother ! Open, mother, open ! [Knock.-i 
violently. Mrs. F,. arising, tries to reach the door, but cannot, and 
falls. Paul bursts open the door and enters with Livingstone ; they 
start back — Livingstone 5rea7i;5 the ivindow, antZ Paul runs to his 
mother.] Too late! too late ! They have committed suicide ! 

Mark. Thev live still. Quick." bear them outside into the air. 



THE POOR OP NEW YORK. 37 

[Carries Lucy, out while Paul assists his mother into the next room. 

Bad. [Starting iip.] How hot it is here — I cannot breathe. Have 
I drunk too much 1 Nonsense ! I could drink a dozen such bottles. 
Let me try mj^ legs a bit — Vfhere's the door 1 I can't see it — my head 
spins round — come, Badger, no nonsense now. God ! I'm suffocating ! 
Am I going to die, to die! like that old sea captain'? [Tears off his 
cravat.\ Justice of Heaven ! I am strangling. Help ! help ! Bloodgood 
will return and find me helpless, then he will rob me of the receipt, as 
I robbed the old sailor — I know him of old — he is capable of it, but 
he shall not have it ! There, in its nook, if I have strength to reach it — 
it is safe — safe. [Drags himself along the floor, lifts \ip a loose hoard, 
puts the receipt beneath it and falls exhausted.^ There ! 

Paul. [Entering r. h. room.] I heard smothered cries for help — ■ 
they came froni this floor. [Exit. 

Enter Bloodgood, l. h. room. 

Blood. Here I anij Badger. [Starts hack, suffocated.] What a suf- 
focating atmosphere ! where is he? ha ! is he intoxicated? 

Paul. [Entering l. h. room.] Perhaps the cry came from here, 
dead? 

Blood,. Paul Fairwcather ! 

Paul. Gideon Bloodgood ! 

Bad. [Raising his head.] What names were those 1 Both of them ! 
Together, here ! [To Paul.] Listen — while I yet have breath to 
.speak — listen ! Twenty years ago, that man robbed your father of 
$100,000! 

Paid. Robbed! 

Blood. Scoimdrel ! 

Bad.' I've got the proofs. 

Paid. The proofs ? 

Bad. I have 'em safe — you'll find 'em — th — ah ! [Falls backwards 
insensible \ Paul and Bloodgood stand aghast. 



EKD of act IV. 



88 THE POOR OF NEW YORK. 



ACT y. 



SCENE I. — Brooldyn Heights, overlooking the city of New York, 
audits harbors. The stage is occupied hy a neat garden, on a natu- 
ral terrace of the heights — on the l. h., a frame cottage, prettily 
built — a table, with breakfast laid, l. h., at which Mrs. Fairwea- 
THER and Paul are seated. 

Enter Mrs. Puffy, /rom the cottage, with a teapot. 

Mrs. P. There's the tea. Bless me, how hot it is to-day ! who 
would think that we were in the month of February 1 [Siis. 

Mrs. F. Your husband is late to breakfast. 
Paul. Here he comes. 

Enter Puffy, gaily. 

Puffy. How is everybody 1 and above everybody, liow is Miss Lucy 
this morning 1 ' [Sits at table. 

Mrs. F. Poor child! her recovery is slow — the fever has abated, 
but she is still very weak. 

Paul. Her life is saved — for a Avhole month she liovered over the 
grave. 

Puffy. But how is it we never see Mr. Livingstone 1 our benefactor 
is like Santa Glaus — he showers benefits and blessings on us all, 
yet never shows us his face. 

Mrs. F. He brought us back to this, our old home — he obtained 
employment for Paul in the Navy Yard. 

Puffy. He set me up again in my patent oven, and got me a gov- 
ernment contract for Navy biscuit. 

Mrs. P. He is made of the finest flour that heaven ever put into 
human baking ; he'll die of over-bigness of the heart. 

Mrs. F. That's a disease hereditary in your family. 

Paid. [Rising.] 1 will tell you why Livingstone avoids our grati- 
tude. Because my sister Lucy refused his love — because he has sold 
liis hand to Alida Bloodgood — and he has given us the purchase mo- 
ney. 

Puffy. And amongst those who have served us, don't let us forget 
poor Badger. 

Enter Badgkr, behind. 

Bad. They are talking of me. 

Mrs. F. [Rising.] Forget him! forget the man who watched Lucy 
during her illness, with more than the tenderness of a brother! A 
wolnan never can forget any one who has been kind to her children. 

Mrs. P. Them's my sentiments to a hair. 

Bad.. You shan't have cause to change them. 

Paul. Badger ! 

Bad. Congratulate me. 1 have been appointed to the police. The 
commissioners wantod a .special service to lay on to Wall street. 



THE POOR OF NEW YORK. 



39 



Koguery, it seems, has concentrated there, and we want to catch a 
big offender. 

Mrs. P. They all go to Europe. 

Puffy. That accounts for the drain of specie. 

[Mr. and Mrs. P. take off the breakfast table. 
Mrs, F. I will tell Lucy that her nurse has come. 

[JExit into cottage. 

Paw?. Now, Badger, the news. .,^ *,.■, 

Bad. Bad, sir. To-night Mr. Livingstone is to be married to Alida 

Bloodgood. „, -, ■, J, .-, ■ 1 

Paul. What shall Idol- I dare not accuse Bloodgood of this rob- 
bery, unless you can produce the proofs— and perhaps the wretch has 
discovered and destroyed them. ^ , ^ 

Bad I think not. When I recovered from the effects of the char- 
coal the day after my suffocation, I started for my lodging— I found 
the house shut up, guarded by a servant of Bloodgood's— the banker 
had bought the place. But I had concealed the document too cun- 
ningly ; he has not found it, 

Paul. But knowing this man to be a felon, whom we may be able 
at anv hour to unmask, can we allow Livingstone to marry his daugh- 
ter? ' 

Enter Livingstone. 

Liv. Paul, I have come to bid you farewell, and to see Lucy for 
^,he last time — ^ 

Enter Lucy. 

Lucy. For the last time, why so — 

[Paul and Badger run to assist her forward. 

Liv. Lucy, dear Lucy. 

Bad. Now take care — sit down — 

Lucy. Ah, my good kind nurse. [She sits.] You are always by my 
side. 

j5a^.. Always ready with a dose of nasty medicine, ain't I — well 
now I've got another dose ready — do you see this noble kind heart, 
Lucy; it looks through two honest blue eyes into your face— well 
tell me what vou see there — ■ 

Lucy. Why do you ask me 1 [Troubled 

Bad. Don't turii your eyes away — the time nas come when decep- 
tion is a crime, Lucy — look in his face, and confess the infernal 
scheme by which Alida Bloodgood compelled you to renounce your 
love. 

Lit\ Alida! 

Ijucy. lias she betrayed me — 

Bad. No ! you betrayed yourself— one night in the ravings of your 
fever, when I held your hands in the paroxyism of your fi-enzy, I 
heard the cries that came from your poor wounded heart ; shall I 
repeat the scene. 

Lucy. [Hiding her face in her hands.] No, no. 

Liv. Paul, is this true ? have I been deceived 1 



40 THE POOR OF NEW YORK 

Paul. You have — Lucy confessed to me this infamous bargain, 
extorted from her by Ahda Bloodgood ; and to save you from ruin she 
sacrificed her love — 

Liv. Lucy ! dear Lucy, look up. It was for your sate alone that 
I accepted this hated union — to save you and yours from poverty — 
but whisper one word, tell me that ruin of fortune is better than ruin 
of the heart. [Lucy /aZZs iipon his neck. 

Bad. Hail Columbia ! I know a grand party at Madison Square that 
will cave in to night — hi ! — I shall be there to congratulate that sweet 
girl. 

Enter Dan. 

Dan. Mother ! mother ! where's my hat, quick, there's a fire in 
New York. \^He runs into the house and re-enters with a telescope; 
looks off towards the city. 

Bad. Yes, and there is a fire here too, but one we don't want put 
out — 

Paid. Now Mark, I can confess to you that documents exist — proofs 
of felony against Bloodgood, which may at any moment consign him 
to the State Prison and transfer to our family his illgotten wealth. 

Liv. Proofs of felony 1 

Dan. The fire is in Chatham street. 

Paul. Twenty years ago he robbed my father of 100,000 dollars. 

Bad. And I was his accomplice in the act; we shared the plunder 
between us — 

Dan. No it isn't in Chatham street — I see it plainly — it is in Cross 
street, Five Points. 

Bad. [Starting.] Cross street — where, where — [Runs up. 

Liv. But if these proofs — these documents exist, where are they 1 

Dan. It is the tenement house two doors from the corner. 

Bad. Damnation ! it is our old lodging ! you ask where are these 
proofs, these documents 1 they are yonder, in that burning house — 
fired by Bloodgood to destroy the papers he could not find — curses 
on him ! 

Enter Mrs. Puffy, with Dan's hat. 

Mrs. P. Here's your hat, Dan. 

Bad. Quick ! Dan, my son — for our lives ! Dan ! the fortunes of 
Lucy and Paul and the old woman are all in that burning house. 

[Dan begins to thrust his trousers into his boots. 

Enter Mrs. Fairweather and Puffy. 

I mean to save it or perish in the flames. 
Dan. Count me in. 

[They run out. 

Tableau. 



THE POOR OP NEW YORK, 41 

SCENE IT. — Stage dark. The exterior of ike tenement house, No. 
19)0 Cross street, Five Points — the shutters of all the windows are 
closed. A light is seen through the round holes in the shutters of the 
upper windows — presently a flame rises — it is extinguished — the7i 
revives. The light seen to descend as the hearer of it passes down 
the staircase, the door opens cautiously — Bloodgood, disguised, ap- 
pears — he looks round — closes the door again — locks it. 

Blood. In a few hours, this accursed house will be in ruins. The 
receipt is concealed there — and it will be consumed in the flames. 
[The glow of fire is seen to spread from room to room.] Now Badger — . 
do your worst — I am safe ! [Exit. 

[Tire house is gradually enveloped in fire, a cry outside is heard. 
'' Fi-er V '' Fi-er V^ it is taken up by other voices 'more distant.' 
. The tocsin sounds — other churches take tip the alarm — hells of 
Engines are heard. Enter a crowd ofperso7is. Enter Badger, with- 
out coat or hat — he tries the door — finds it fast ; seizes a bar of iron 
and dashes in the ground floor window, the interior is seen in 
flames. Enter Dan. * 

Dan. [Seeing Badger climbing into the window.] Stop! stop! 

[Badger leaps in and disappears. Shouts from the mob; Dan leaps 
in — another shout, Dan leaps out again black ayidburned, staggers 
forward, and seems overcome by the heat and smoke. The shutters 
of the garret fall and discover Badger in the upper floor. Another 
cry from the crowd, a loud crash is heard, Badger disappears as 
if falling with the inside of the building. The shutters of the win- 
doivs fall away, and the inside nf the house is seen, gutted by the 
fire; a cry of horror is vtiered by the mob. Badger drags himself 
from the ruins, and falls across the sill of the loiver window. Dan 
and two of the mob run to help him forward but recoil before the 
heat ; at length they succeed in rescuing his body — tvhich lies c. 
Livingstone, Paul, and Puffy, rush on. Dxy kneels over Bad- 
GER and extinguishes the fire which clings io parts of his clothes. 

SCENE III. — The Drawing-Room in Bloodgood's Mansion, inMad- 
ison Square — illuminated. Music within. 

JJnter Bloodgood. 

Blood. The evidence of my crime is destroyed — no j^wer on earth 
can reveal the past. 

Enter Alida, dressed as a bride. 

My dearest child, to-night you will leave this roof; but from this home 
in your fatlier's heart, none can displace you. * 

Alicia. Oh, dear papa, do take care of my flounces — you men paw 
one about as if a dress was put on only to be rumpled. 

Blood. The rooms below are full of company. Has Livingstone 
arrived '? 



42 THE POOR OF XEW YORK. 

Alida. I did not inquire. The duke is there, looking the picture 
of misery, while all my female friends pretend to congratulate me— 
but I know they are dying with envy and spite. 

Blood. And do these feelings constitute the happiest day of youi 
life 1 Alida, have you no heart 1 

Alida. Yes, father, I have a heart — but it is like yours. It is an 
iron safe in which are kept the secrets of the past. 

Enter Edwards. 

Edw. The clergyman is robed, sir, and ready to perform the cere- 
mony. 

Blood. Let the bridesmaids attend Miss Bloodgood. 

l^The curtains are raised, and the Bridesmaids enter. Bloodgood 
goes up a)id off, and immediately returns with the bridal party. 

Welcome, my kind friends. [Alida speaks aside with the duke.] Your 
oresence fills me with pride and joy — but where is the bridegroom 1 
Has no one seen my son-in-law 1 
Edw. [A7i7iouticinf/.] ]Mr, Mark Livingstone. 

Enter Livingstone. 

Blood. Ah ! at last. What a strange costume for a bridegroom ! 

Alida. [Turns, and views Livingstone.] Had I not good reasons 
tO be assured of your sincerity, Mr. Livingstone, your appearance 
would lead me to believe that you looked upon this marriage as a jest, 
jr a masquerade. 

Liv. As you say. Miss Bloodgood, it is a masquerade — but it is one 
where more than one mask must fall. 

Blood. [Aside.] What does he mean ? 

Alida. You speak in a tone of menace. May 

Blood. Perhaps I had better see Mr. Livingstone alone — ho maj' be 
under some misapprehension. 

Liv. lam under none, sir — although I believe you maybe; and 
what I have to say and do, demands no concealment. I come here to 
decline the hand of your daughter. [Move7nent amongst the crowd. 

Blood. You must explain this public insult. 

Liv. I am here to do so, but I do not owe this explanation to you ; 
I owe it to myself, and those friends I see here, whose presence under 
your roof is a tribute to the name I bear. My friends, I found myself 
in this man's debt ; he held in pledge all S possessed — all but my 
name ; that name he v.anted to shelter the infamy in which his own 
was covered ;TRvas vile enough to sell it. 

Blood. Go on, sir; go on. 

Liv. With your leave, I will. 

Alida. These matters you were fully acquainted with, I presume, 
when you sought my hand. 

Jjiv. But I was not acquainted with the contents of these letters — 
written by you, to the Duke of Calcavella. 

Blood. Dare you insinuate that they contain evidence derogatory to 
the honor of mv child 1 



THE POOR OP NEW YORK. 48 

Liv. No, sir ; but I think Miss Bloodgood will agree with me, that 
the sentiments expressed in these letters entitle her to the hand of the 
duke rather than to mine. [He hands the Utters to Alida. 

AUda. Let him go, father. 

Liv. Not yet. You forget that my friends here are assembled to 
witness a marriage, and all we require is a bride. 

Blood. Yes ; a bride who can pay your debts. 

Enter Paul, Lucy, and Mrs. Fairweather. 

Paul. No, sir ; a bride who can place the hand of a pure and lov- 
ing maiden in that of a good and honest man. 

Blood. How dare you intrude in this house % 

Paid. Because it is mine; because your whole fortune will scarcely 
serve to pay the debt you owe the widow and the children of Adam 
Fairweather ! 

Blood.. Is my house to be invaded by beggars like these ! Edwards, 
send for the police. Is there no law in New York for ruffians 7 

Enter Badger, in the uniform of an officer of police. 

Bad. Yes, plenty — and here's the police. 

Blood. Badger ! 

Bad. What's left of him. 

Blood. [ Wildly.] Is this a conspiracy to ruin me 1 

Bad. That's it. We began it twenty years ago ; we've been hatch- 
ing it ever since ; we let you build up a fortune ; we tempted you to 
become an incendiary ; we led you on from misdemeanor to felony — 
and that's what I want you for. 

Blood. What do you mean 1 

Bad. My meaning is set forth very clearly in an affidavit, on which 
the Recorder, at this very late hour for business, issued this warrant 
for your arrest. 

Enter two Policemen. Alida falls in a chair. 

Blood. Incendiary ! Dare you charge a man of my standing in this 
city, with such a crime, w^hout any cause 1 

Bad. Cause ! you wanted to burn up this receipt, which I was just 
in time to rescue from the flames ! 

Blood. [Drawing a knife.] Fiend ! you escaped the flames here — 
now go to those hereafter ! 

Bad. Hollo ! [Disarms Bloodgood, ayid slips a pair of handcuffs 
on him.] Gideon — my dear Gideon — don't lose your temper. 

[Throws him back, manacled, on the sofa. 

Paid. Miss Bloodgood, let me lead you from this room. 

Alida. [Rises, and crosses to her father.] Father! 

Blood. Alida, my child. 

Alida. Is this true 1 [A pause.] It is — I read it in your quailing 
eye— on your paling lips. And it was for this that you raised me to 
the envied position of the rich man's heiress — for this you roused my 
pride — for this you decked me in jewels — to be the felon's daughter. 
Farewell. 



44 THE POOR OF NEW YORK. 

Blood. Alicia — my cLild — my child — it Avas for you alone I sinned 
— do not leaA'e me. 

Alida. What should I do in this city 1 can I earn my bread ? what 
am I fit for — with your tainted name, and my own sad heart 1 [Throws 
down her bride's coronet} I am fit for the samfe fate as yours — infamy. 

[£xit. 

Bad. Duke, you had better see that lady out. [Uxii Duke.] Gideon, 
my dear, allow me to introduce you to two friends of mine, who are 
anxious to make your acquaintance. 

Blood. Take me away ; I have lost my child— my Alida ; take me 
away ; hide me from all the world. 

Paid. Stay ! Mr. Bloodgood, in the midst of j^our crime there was 
one virtue : you loved your child ; even now your heart deplores her 
ruin — not your own. Badger, give me that receipt. [Takes the re- 
ceipt from Badger.] Do you acknowledge this paper to be genuine 1 

Blood. I do. 

Paul. [Tears it.] I have no charge against you. Let him be re- 
leased. Kestore to me my fortune, and take the rest ; go, follow 
your child ; save her from ruin, and live a better life. 

Blood. I cannot answer you as I would. [Turns aside in tears, 
and goes out with Policemen and Badger, who releases Bloodgood. 

Liv. That was nobly done, Paul. Now, my friends, since all is 
prepared for my marriage let the ceremony proceed. 

Mrs. F. But where is Mrs. Puffy. 

Bad. Here they are, outside, but they won't come in. 

Paid. Why not '? 

Bad. They are afraid of walking on the carpets. 

Liv. Bring them in. 

Bad. That's soon done. [Exit. 

Mrs. F. Poor, good, kind people— the first to share our sorrow the 
last to claim a part in our joy. 

Enter Bx^G-E-R and T)AT!i — Puffy ancZ one Policeman — Mrs. Puffy 
and the other Policeman. 

Bad. They wouldn't come — I was obliged to take 'em in custody. 

Dan. Oh ! mother, where's this 1 

Mrs. P. I'm walkin' on a feather bed. 

Puffy. He wouldn't let me wipe my shoes. 

Liv. Come in — these carpets have never been trodden by more 
honest feet, these mirrors have never reflected kinder faces — con' 
in — breathe the air here — you will purify it. 

Mrs. P. Oh, Dan, what grand folks — ain't they 1 

Dan. Canvass backs every one on 'em. 

Liv. And now, Lucy, I claim your hand. [Music inside.] All is 
ready for the ceremony. 

Bad. You have seen the dark side of life — you can appreciate your 
fortune, for you have learned the value of wealth. 

3rrs. F. No, we have learned the value of poverty. [Gives her hand 
to Puffy.] It opens the heart. 



tflE POOH OF SEW YORK. 



45 



Paul. [To the public] Is this true? Have the sufferings we have 
depicted in this mimic scene, touched yoiu* hearts, and caused a 
tear of sympathy to fill your eyes 1 If so, extend to us your hands. 

Mrs. F. No, not to us — but when you leave this place, as you re- 
turn to your homes, should you see some poor creatures, extend your 
hands to them, and the blessings that will follow you on your way will 
be the most grateful tribute you can pay to the 

POOR OF NEW YORK. 



TiiE JEND, 



M ASSET'S . • 

EXHIBITION RECITER, 



AND 

DEAWING-ROOM ENTERTAINMENTS; 

Being choice 
RECITATIONS IN PROSE AND VERSE: 

TOGETHER IflTn AN UNIQUE COLLECTION OF 

PETITE COMEDIES DRAMAS, AND FARCES. 

ADAPTED FOR 

THE USE OP SCHOOLS AND FAJVIILIES. 
BY CHARLES MASSEY, 

PROFESSOR OF ELOCUTION. 



• N O. I I . C O K T A I N s : 

The Arnerican Forest Girl, Bernardo del Carpio, [lude) 

Love and Jealousy (Tragedy), Sylvester Daggerwood (Comic Inte^ 

The Execution of Montrose, Lochinvar, 

The Irish Tutor (Farce), PaJdy Dunbar, 

Soldier from Bingen, [Opera). School for Orators (Orig. Comedy). 

Bombastes Furioso (Burlesque Miscellaneous. 

%lt«rf<1 according to Act of CongTPes, in the Year One Thousand Kiehf Ilnndred nrd Fifty-Sii, by Btmtif'. Tran*^ 
io th : Clerk'* Office of the Ditlrict cotirt of the United State* for the Soathvia Diittrict of Kew I'oik. 

NEW- YORK : 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 

121 NASSAU -STREET. 



FRENCH'S 

AMERICAN DRAMA; 

COKSISTIMO or A COLLECTIOlf OW 

TRAGEDIES, DRAMAS, COMEDIES, FARCES 

ETC. ET(J. 



TO WBICH AKE A DDSD, 

A DMcription of tne Costume— Cast of the (characters— Entrances and Ezit»'j 

RelatiTe FMitions of the Performers on tlie Stage, and the whol* ef th* 

Stage Business. 



VOL. I. CONTAINS: 

1. Midsummer Night's 5. Theresa ; or, The Om 
Dream. phan of Geneva. 

2. Popping the Question. 6 Flying Dutchman. 

3. La Tour de Nesle. 7. New Footman. 

4. Deaf as a Post. 8. Pleasant NeighboBi 

with portrait and memoib of edttin forbeot* 



NEW-YORK: 
SAMUEL FllENCH, 

121 WASSAU STKEET. 



MASSEY'S 

EXHIBITIOH EEC 



TEE 



AND 



DRAWING-ROOM ENTERTAINMENTS. 



No. 1 Contains, 
Guy Fawkes, an " Historical Drama." 
I'he Man With the Carpet Bag, " Farce." 
White Horse of the Peppers, " Comic 
V Drama." 

Mesmerism, "Petite Comedy," 
And Twelve selected pieces. 



Being choice recitations in prose and verse, together with an unique 

collection of 

PETITE COMEDIES, DRAMAS AND FARCES, 

ADAPTED FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS AND FAMILIES, 
BY CHAELES MASSEY, 

Professor of Elocution at Burlington College, N. J., and Mechanics' 
Society School, N. Y. 

No. 2 CONTAIXS, 

Love and Jealousy, 'Tragedy." 
The Irish Tutor, •' Farce." 
Bombastes Furioso, "Burlesque Opera." 
Sylvester Daggerwood, "Comic Inter- 
lude." 
School for Orators, '* Original Comedy," 
And Eighteen selected pieces. 
Price per Number, Paper Covers, 25 Cents each. 
The Two Numbers, bound in Cloth, school style, 60 Cents* 
Notwithstanding the great number of voluminous school readers, and 
speakers, that have already been published, there still exists a want, 
which is felt by all who delight in the practice of recitation, viz ; a col- 
lection of humorous and pathetic pieces, in prose and verse, exactly 
suitable for school exhibitions, and social entertainment ; this want has 
compelled the compiler, during a long course of teaching, to devote con- 
siderable time in gleaning from innumerable sources, for the especial 
use of his own pupils, such pieces as are best calculated to please both 
the reciter and the audience ; and he believes that the result of his 
labor will be acceptable to those who wish to practice the important art 
of elocution, either for amusement or emolument. The dramatic pieces 
will be found quite an original feature, inasmuch as they are not mere 
extracts, or mutilated scenes ; but although in some instances, consider- 
ably altered from the originals, they still retain an entire plot, and all 
the wit and humor that could consistently be preserved ; and are ar- 
ranged, and adapted especially for juvenile representation — everything 
objectionable has been carefully expunged, and they have in their pre- 
sent form received the unqualified approbation of numerous intellectual 
and select audiences, before whom they have been presented by the 
pupils of the adapter. — Extract from the Author s Preface 

Publisher. 121 Nassau-street, New York. 

IVESOIV «& PHII^MEY, 

321 Broadway, New York. 

S. €. ORIGOS & CO., 

Chica;po, III. 



V 



THE GARDE MOBILE, a Farce in 1 act, 

THE QUEEN OP SPADES, in 3 acts, 

THE CORSICAN BROTHERS, in 3 acts, - 

*THE VAMPIRE, in 3 acts, 

THE PRIMA DONNA, in 2 acts, 

GENEVIEVE, in 3 acts, - - - . 

THE YOUNG ACTRESS, in 1 act, - 

THE FOX HUNT, in 5 acts, 

ANDY BLAKE, in 2 acts, - - - 

FAUST AND MARGARET, in 3 acts, - 

LOUIS THE XI, in 5 acts, 

♦APOLLO IN NEW YORK, in 2 acts, - 

*JANET PRIDE, in 5 acts, - 

*TIIE CHAMELEON, in 1 act, - 

*TnE FAIRY STAR, in 1 act, 

*THE LIFE OF AN ACTRESS, in 5 acts, 

*THE PHANTOM, in 2 acts, - 

AZAEL, in 3 acts, - ... 

*UNA, in 2 acts, .... 

*NOTUING INIT, inlact, 

BLUEBELLE, in 2 acts, 

THE CAT CHANGED INTO A WOMAN, in 1 act, 

*GE0RGED-ARVILLE,in5acts, - 

THE POOR OF NEW YORK, in 5 acts, - 



London, 1851 

- London, 1851 

London 1852 

London 1852 

London 1852 

London 1853 

New York 1853 

New York 1853 

Boston 1854 

London 1854 

London 1854 

New York 1855 

London 1855 

New Orleans 1S55 

Boston 1855 

- Now Orleans 1855 
Philadelphia 1850 

- New Orleans 185G 
New Orleans 1856 

- Philadelphia l.i'5G 
- New York 1S5G 

- Boston 1856 
London 1857 

New York 1857 



Tins h.t con,pn.es the principaland .uo.t popular works of this Dramatist, those to 
^vhich a star .s prefixed are original, the rest are adaptations, translations, or altered 
irom obsolete pieces. Upwards of sixty works by the same author, are not included 
in the above catalogue. 





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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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